


Awake

by ThatBishLizzie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Added Dany & Cersei friendship tag because it just kind of happened, Anti-Jon at first, Anti-North because S8, Anti-Sansa because S8, Dany is angry af in the beginning of this fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Pro-Dany, Slow Burn, and they’ll be enemies for awhile, because season 8, except they were lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 54,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBishLizzie/pseuds/ThatBishLizzie
Summary: So I usually prefer my Jonerys stories to give them both lots of love.Even tho Season 8 was...you know.But I stumbled onto that deleted scene where that guy spits when he sees Dany, and Jon just stands there smiling idiotically. I became unreasonably pissed off and now I’m blowing off my anger by writing a story about what would have happened if Dany decided F this I’m out and left the North.As you will no doubt notice, I am NOT. A. WRITER.So I apologize if you encounter bad spelling, grammar, or just bad writing. There are thousands of writers on here who know what they’re doing.Alas I am not one of them but I’m too freaking mad not to write something.I think we all know, but just in case, these characters and situations are NOT mine, they belong to George R. R. Martin and D. Weiss and D. Benioff.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister & Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 1393
Kudos: 1007





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Literally starts as that guy spits his water out to show his displeasure at having his life saved and goes on from there.  
> Comments, particularly advice on how I can get better at this, would make my day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited; Thank you so much, HarperPotts, for the suggestion! :-)

One

The North was bitter and cold, drab and without lushness or color. Much like its people. Daenerys chided herself at these thoughts. They’d only just met her. Jon had told her they wouldn’t warm up to her right away. He’d said they would come to see her for what she was. She had to be patient, to win their love as she had won the love of their king. 

She smiled briefly at him as they moved through the snow on the ground outside Winterfell. Men were digging trenches, her own Unsullied and Northerners. 

A boy was giving them water to drink from a ladle, but when the Unsullied saw Daenerys, they stood at attention. 

A Northman with messy hair and a thick beard glared at her, and spat his water out in contempt. 

Daenerys felt a sliver of anger, but quelled it for Jon’s sake. It was his place to remind his men to act like men.

He said nothing, though, and when she turned to him, he was smiling awkwardly. 

Daenerys swallowed her considerable rage and turned from him. It was difficult to stalk away in a dignified manner with all the wet snow sloshing under her boots, and the last thing she wanted was to give these ridiculous men something to laugh at. 

Jon’s steps were muffled behind her as well, and she turned back to face him.

“Your sister doesn’t like me,” she said. It wasn’t just his sister. It was everyone. 

“She doesn’t know you,” he said, and his voice was tinged with impatience. “If it makes you feel better, she didn’t like me either.”

“She doesn’t have to be my friend,” Daenerys said, though that stung too. “But I am her queen. If she can’t respect me...” she trailed off. 

She didn’t like the look Jon was giving her. As if she’d threatened his sister.

Could he really be naive enough to think Sansa’s attitude was harmless? That her complaining about their presence here, in front of everyone else, would have no effect on how the North would treat Daenerys and her men?  
She’d been about to explain, about to point out that Sansa had the men convinced that Daenerys was a burden to the North. Not allies who had come to save them. But the look on his face stopped her.

She was shaking now with anger, and she took a deep breath. “I need to ride,” she said. “I’ll see you this evening.”

She turned and walked away from him. She’d hoped to bring him to meet Rhaegal. She’d been thinking about how Drogon had reacted to him, and wondered if Rhaegal would react similarly. Maybe he would even allow Jon to ride him. She longed for that connection. To fly beside him. She wanted Jon to have the experience, too. The sheer wonder of taking to the sky and gliding above the earth. Maybe it would make him understand her better.

But she was too angry now. She found her children, where they sat in the cold, and moved close to them to enjoy their heat. 

She climbed up onto Drogon and rode the sky with him.

Something about knowing she could fly away from all this, made it seem small. But it wasn’t small. Sansa Stark had looked at her with smug and open dislike when they’d met. As if Daenerys’ complimenting the beauty of her home, and herself, was some victory for her. 

Bran had informed her that the Night King had her dragon. It was all she could do not to break down in sobs for her child right there in front of all those cold hateful eyes.

It had been devastating enough Viserion died. But now, to be enslaved even in death. 

And then of course there was Sansa’s outrage over having to feed Daenerys and her armies.  
Was this woman truly so stupid? How could she think Daenerys didn’t bring her own provisions? 

And worse, she’d acted as if the North were doing Daenerys a favor by hosting them, and a burdensome favor at that.

Daenerys allowed her anger to wash over her. Then, as it started to ebb, she thought again about Jon. 

She loved him. His courage, his fierce determination to save his people and the world. She’d hoped his family would like her. That his den of wolves could somehow become her pack, too. Because she loved him, and they loved him. That had to count for something.

But she had yet to meet Arya, who he’d spoken about with such affection.

Sansa hated her, and Bran seemed as if he didn’t care whether she lived or died.

She hadn’t even gotten to see Ghost.

Jon had made no attempt to ameliorate the situation between Daenerys and his men.

Ser Davos had told her that these hard sons of bitches had chosen him as their king because they believed in him. But the looks they’d given him on his arrival had barely been warmer than those they’d given her. One young lady, Lyanna Mormont, Ser Jorah’s cousin, had gone off on him. Had basically called him “nothing”.

Yeah, they really believe in him, she thought angrily.

But now she was softening. Jon had told her it had been lonely growing up a bastard. He must have been so honored to be named King.

She would stand by him. She loved him. 

Daenerys had not been able to find Jon. She’d met Samwell Tarly, and she’d tried to thank him for saving Ser Jorah. To offer him a reward.

Some reward, she thought bitterly. Instead she’d had to break it to him that she’d killed his father and brother.

The man had almost burst into tears, then made a quick escape. How could Daenerys break his heart further? Tell him that they were oathbreakers, that they’d slaughtered men, women and children they’d considered friends? That they’d stolen from their sworn liege lady? That she’d offered them a pardon, that Tyrion had brought up the Wall, and the man had practically begged her to kill him? 

She needed Jon. She decided to check the crypts. Perhaps he’d gone there.

She crept into the dark catacomb and heard voices. She froze.

“Don’t you know?” Samwell Tarly’s voice.

“Know what?” Jon’s voice responded.

“Daenerys,” Sam said. “She executed my father and brother. They were her prisoners. She didn’t tell you.”

A long silence. “I’m so sorry,” Jon finally said. “We need to end this war.”

“Would you have done it?” Sam demanded.

“I’ve executed men who disobeyed me.”

“You also spared men,” Sam said.

I’ve spared men, too, Daenerys thought. 

“Thousands of wildlings when they refused to kneel,” Sam added.

But were they fighting for and serving Jon’s enemies? Daenerys wondered.

“I wasn’t a king,” Jon said.

“But you were,” Sam told him. “You’ve always been.”

“I gave up my crown, I’m not the king in the north anymore.”

“I’m not talking about the king in the North. I’m talking about king of the Seven bloody kingdoms!” Sam said. “Bran and I worked it out,” he went on, then he told Jon that his parents were Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Daenerys felt colder than she’d ever felt, and pulsing under that cold was rage.

Did this fool not know that Rhaegar was married? Had children? Was he suggesting that Rhaegar had not kidnapped Lyanna, that she’d gone willingly and just...didn’t tell her family? 

Daenerys sank to the floor of the crypt. She was shaking, and thought she might be sick.

“Daenerys is our queen,” Jon said.

“She shouldn’t be,” Sam said.

Fuck you too, Sam, Daenerys thought.

“That’s treason,” Jon whispered.

“It’s the truth,” Sam said. “You gave up your crown to save your people. Would she do the same?”

And now the fury burned a fire in Daenerys’ bones.

Is that what he’s telling people? That he gave up his crown to save his people?

Daenerys stood up. She made her way back to her room, feeling dizzy. 

She was trembling violently. 

Jon had said nothing to defend her. Had not mentioned what she’d done, how she’d lost a dragon trying to save him. 

He doesn’t love me, she realized. He never loved me. 

She couldn’t go to war with him over the throne. There were only the two of them left of their family. She would not engage another Dance of Dragons. It would destroy what was left of them.

And despite herself, she loved him. She loved his bravery and his compassion. 

But she knew now he did not love her. He hadn’t defended her. He’d only said they needed to end the war. He was allowing his people to believe he’d bent the knee to her to save them.

Where was that courage she’d loved?

But of course he had the courage to stand up for his people. He loved them.

What he felt for her, was much like what she felt for Daario; she liked him, was attracted to him, valued his military strength. But she was not in love with him. 

But I never lied to Daario, she thought. Not like Jon lied to me.

She wanted to cry. Everything she’d worked for and fought for...gone.

Missandei entered, smiling warmly, then the smile disappeared as she saw the expression on Daenerys’ face. 

“Your Grace, what’s wrong?” She rushed to her side. “Are you hurt?”

“Missandei...have the people here been disrespectful to you?”

Missandei frowned. “They don’t want us here.”

“No. They don’t. I may just give them what they want.”

Jaime Lannister had come to Winterfell. 

Jon had avoided Daenerys since the conversation with Sam, and she couldn’t be sure whether he was angry at her over Sam’s father and brother, or if it was that he was trying to find the best way to tell her that he was her nephew. 

Jaime told them that Cersei had lied. That she’d used the money they’d stolen from Highgarden to pay back the Iron Bank, then borrowed more to hire the Golden Company.

Viserion had truly died for nothing. Jon had lost his spine on the way here to Winterfell, and Tyrion was either an imbecile or was far too soft where his family was concerned to possibly serve her well.

A tall blonde woman named Brienne stood up and defended Jaime, and Sansa accepted that.

Jon only said that the more people they had at the battle the better. Then he hurried away.

When did he become a coward? Daenerys wondered. 

Of course, Jaime’s vow and Brienne’s trust only extended as far as the Starks; Jon and Sansa were satisfied enough with that. They really didn’t give a fuck if Jaime slit Daenerys’ throat in the night. 

I’m not safe here, Daenerys realized. 

Would Ser Jorah turn on her too? The thought made her sick to her stomach. He’d wanted to come back here since they’d first met. 

She had over a hundred thousand men. Khal Drogo’s khalasar had been forty thousand. She had all the khalasars, as one. She had her Unsullied.

But what to do with them? The North wanted independence. Her allies in Westeros were gone. Because of Tyrion.

She was fed up and finished with Westeros.

That night, at dinner, she decided to tell them so. 

She stood. “People of the North,” she began. There were angry mutters, but they quieted down somewhat. “Please allow me to say a few words. First,” she turned to Jon. “I release you, Jon Snow, from your pledge to me. I am no longer your queen.

“Something has come to my attention. You are all under the impression that Jon surrendered his crown to me, in order to have me come here. That’s not what happened. 

What happened was that your king went North of the Wall to retrieve a wight at Lord Tyrion’s suggestion. He’d hoped that if Cersei saw it, she would be persuaded to send men. Of course, unsurprisingly, she lied. But your king and his men got stuck there. They sent me a message and I went to rescue them. 

“Of course, when I got there, King Jon did not get on my dragon, instead wandering quite far from us, and the Night King killed my dragon.  
I told him we would destroy the Night King together, and then he bent the knee to me.

“He told me you would come to see me for what I am. Having met all of you, its clear to me that you will not. 

“I will always be the mad king’s daughter to you. 

“Your king told me how the First Men and the Children of the Forest fought side by side, despite their differences and suspicions, to destroy a common enemy. 

“I had assumed he explained this to you before coming to me. I assumed you wanted to live. But after the blatant hatred you have for us, after being spit at, sometimes literally,” her eyes rested briefly on the slob who’d done so, who glared back at her in derision, “and after Lady Stark complained about feeding us, about the burden we were, I realized you would prefer to die than owe your survival to the mad kings daughter.

“You may not have noticed, but my men are better fed than yours. It was monstrously stupid to assume we hadn’t brought our own provisions.

“I will leave provisions in return for whatever I have eaten in my time here.

“In any event, I have provided you with dragonglass at no cost. I will allow you to keep it. In return I wish to have four large spears made from this dragonglass. Once that’s done, we will be leaving. The Lady of Winterfell need not worry about our burdensome presence. You need not worry about the Mad King’s daughter, a foreign invader, or my so-called hordes, who incidentally treated your king far more respectfully than you have treated me. 

“I suppose in Essos men are capable of honor and gratitude. I hope this pleases you. Certainly nothing else I’ve done has.”

She turned then and left the hall.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for the kind and wonderful support I have received on this fic so far! Thank you so much!
> 
> This chapter has Daenerys finishing up her business at Winterfell and leaving.
> 
> Next chapter is Jon’s POV and I’ll admit I’m pretty nervous. I loved this guy so much in S1-S7, and now my compass is off, I can’t figure out whether he’d try to make a stand at Winterfell and then move the survivors south, or just start moving people south before the dead get there.
> 
> Thoughts and opinions are appreciated because I’m really torn on which he should do.

Two

Daenerys was packing her things so that she would be ready as soon as her dragonglass spears were made. 

She’d sent some of her men ahead to Dragonstone, so they could mine more dragonglass. 

She had given Jon her word that they would destroy the Night King. The cold blue monster had killed her child. And what if his rotting horde took all of Westeros? Would they then set their sights on Essos? How long would it take to freeze the Narrow Sea? 

Her people, her beloved people who loved her in return, would be obliterated. 

She had to destroy him. 

But she did not have to do it here, at Winterfell, and she was wondering now what the fuck had made them think this was the best place for a last stand? 

Stupidity, she thought angrily. 

Jon entered her room, and she glared at him.

“Dany,” he began.

“Do not think you’re going to change my mind, Jon. You let them all believe you’d nobly bent the knee to me to save them, that I was a tyrant who demanded it of you before agreeing to help. And then what? Would they have murdered me so you could take the Iron Throne?”

“The...what? The Iron Throne?“

“Yes, nephew. The Iron Throne.” She looked at his face, which was frozen in shock. “When were you going to tell me? After the war with the dead when your war crushed my forces? Or were you hoping I’d die in the fray? Or maybe that Jaime fucking Lannister would murder me to protect his bitch of a sister. You certainly said nothing to Sam on my behalf.”

“You think I wanted you to die?”

“I don’t know what to think. On Dragonstone I met a king. Here at Winterfell, I saw a thrall.”

“I’m not a king because I bent the knee to you.”

“And I suppose when you bent the knee your spine slid out?”

“You’re not being fair.”

“Fair? Was it fair that you let Sam Tarly and everyone else think you gave up your crown to save your people? That when he asked you if I would do the same, you stood there silent, even though this battle could cost my very life? When he said I shouldn’t be Queen, you didn’t say a word to defend me. Your plan to have a last stand here at Winterfell has got to be the stupidest tactical decision I’ve ever seen, yet I came here, I tried to stomach the blatant disrespect of your people. But the truth is, they don’t want me here. They don’t want to owe their lives to me. And freedom means making your own choice.”

“If you leave here, if you don’t help, all these people will die.”

“It’s their choice. Sam said you spared thousands of people. I loved how you pointed out that I have too, that I came here to...oh, wait. No you didn’t. You just stood there.”

“Dany-“

“Those people you spared, were they actively fighting for your enemy? Were they oath breakers? I’m not familiar with Westerosi customs, what do you do with oathbreakers?”

Jon sighed. “The penalty for oath breaking is execution.”

“Imagine that.”

“You could have offered them to go to the Wall.”

“Tyrion did, and Tarly said I couldn’t send him to the Wall, because I’m not his queen.”

“I didn’t know -“

“You never know anything, do you? But you knew I lost my dragon in the aim to save you. You knew I came here risking my life, my armies and my dragons to save your people. Yet you said nothing. And you let them think you had no choice but to bend the knee.”

“Everyone here will die if you don’t help.”

“You seem to be laboring under some impression that I’m beholden to you. Let me help you with that.   
Your people have made it very clear that they are not my people. They’ve made it very clear that they don’t want my help.   
And I need to say this slowly, so you understand: I. Owe. You. Nothing.”

“If the dead make it past Winterfell-“

“Then they’ll have ten thousand more than they have now. If we are going to fall to them, ten thousand won’t be the difference.”

“You said we would destroy the Night King together.”

“We still can. You can leave with me. I have no intention of allowing the Night King to eventually make his way across the narrow sea to the people who are mine. Who love me. I will destroy him. You can come with me or you can stay here. That choice is yours. But make no mistake, I will destroy him.”

“The North is my home. It’s part of me-“

“Then stay. But it’s not my home. And your people have gone out of their way to ensure I feel unwelcome. They’ve succeeded. I’m leaving.”

“If this is about the throne-“

“It isn’t. If you’d stood up for me, if you’d shown any concern for my welfare when Jaime Lannister showed up here, if you’d come to me after to see if I was all right with him being here, I’d have stayed. Despite the risk, despite your people’s moronic viciousness. I loved you.” 

“Loved?”

“If you want the throne, you can fight Cersei for it. I will not have another Dance of Dragons. Even though you’ve made it quite clear that the lice on the head of Ser Spittle is more valuable to you than my life, I can’t bring myself to harm you. But I’m not going to help you take the very thing I’ve spent years fighting for.”

“I don’t want that damned throne!”

“Then let Cersei keep it. Your people would obviously prefer her having it to me.”

“You’ll just leave these people to die.”

“They. Don’t. Want. Me.” 

She turned from him and resumed packing. 

Jon turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Jorah came in, his face sympathetic.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I didn’t expect you to. But the Night King-“

“I will destroy him. But I’m not going to fight for the throne.” She took a deep shaky breath. “It’s not mine. It’s Jon’s.” She explained what she’d overheard. 

“Rhaegar was already married,” Jorah said.

“Yes, well, regardless of any legitimacy issues, I’m not going to fight him for it. Once the Night King is defeated...” she broke off. What would she do? “I don’t even know. Maybe I’ll take your advice you gave me all those years ago, and travel the world. See the sights. I could see Valyria.”

“Valyria is ruins and stone men.”

“Drogon can burn the stone men. There may be eggs there. Didn’t you say I could sell them and live as a rich woman?”

“Is that your plan?”

“No. I don’t have a plan. How would it be if I could rebuild Valyria? Declare myself queen, and anyone who comes would be choosing me freely.”

“Valyria will never be rebuilt, Your Grace.”

“They used to say dragons would never return. I don’t see the word ‘never’ as a discouragement. I take it as a challenge. It’s all conjecture now. My primary focus is on the Night King. If you wish to stay here, I understand.”

“Stay here?”

“These are your people. This is your home. If you want to defend it, I’ll bear you no ill will.”

“You are the only thing that has given my life meaning. Where you go, I go,” he said.

After packing her things, Daenerys told her Dothraki and Unsullied that they would be leaving in a few days, then asked them to have a contest. She wanted them to practice spear throwing. She would only get one chance to do what she needed to do, and it had to be right.

Tyrion approached her as she watched the men throwing spears. 

“When are we leaving?” He asked cautiously. 

“We?” She laughed. “You’re not coming with me. If you don’t want to be part of the Great Northern Suicide Mission, I will allow you to take refuge on Dragonstone. I’d advise you to stop wearing your Hand pin. You can keep it. I had it made for you.” Her throat tightened at these words, and annoying tears filled her eyes, which she wiped away impatiently. “But it’s clear to me now, that you are not on my side. Your plans cost me my allies. Lady Olenna is dead because of your stupidity. Viserion is dead because of your stupidity. Now your sister has twenty thousand fresh soldiers. So was it stupidity? Did you truly become an imbecilic pacifist, or was your plan to weaken me for your sister?”

“Your Grace, I swear to you, I want you on the throne.”

“I’m sorry to crush another desire then, for I have no intention of taking the throne.”

“You...don’t?”

“No. I’m going to destroy the Night King and leave Westeros. Let Cersei and Jon battle it out. I’m done.”

“But...you wanted...”

“Thus far, I’ve given Cersei the impression that she and her forces are stronger and smarter than mine. After what you pulled, no one will ally with me now. The people of Westeros will never choose me or love me. I’m finished with them. Once the Night King is destroyed, I’m finished with Westeros.”

“And Varys?”

“Varys? I’ve noticed something about Varys. The Master of Whispers. Our enemies knew when Yara was taking Ellaria Sand to Sunspear. Euron Greyjoy knew Yara’s position, but we didn’t know his. Our enemies knew we were taking Casterly Rock. But we didn’t know they were going to attack Highgarden. Varys is either untrustworthy or incompetent, and I can’t afford either.”

Once her spears were ready, Daenerys searched for Bran Stark.

She found him sitting in the Godswood under the white tree with its red leaves.

“You knew the Night King had Viserion.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t see him? The Night King?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want your men to have to battle a dragon?”

Now his far off eyes fixed on her. “No.”

“Then tell me where he is. I wish to free my child from the enslavement the Night King has imposed on him.”

“He’ll kill you and take your other dragon.”

Daenerys felt a chill of fear.

I am the blood of the dragon, she reminded herself. I must be strong.

“That’s my risk to worry about,” she told him.

“It’s everyone’s risk. If he kills you and Drogon, the Night King will have two dragons.”

“I’m doing this with or without your help. If you help me, you increase your own chance o survival.”

Bran’s eyes drifted, then after a few minutes, returned to her face. 

“He’s just past Last Hearth.”

“Thank you.”

She turned then to find Grey Worm, who had won the spear throwing contest, and told him her plan. 

“You don’t have to join me. It’s a big risk. But I have to take that risk to save my dragon from his enslavement.”

“I will go with you, my queen,” he assured her.

He followed her to Drogon. If he had any trepidation about mounting a dragon, he didn’t show it.

Daenerys was afraid. She didn’t wish to have anyone see her fear, but it shivered through the fire in her blood. 

I’m a better dragon rider than the Night King, she reminded herself. Drogon was always stronger than Viserion. But maybe the undead dragon was faster now, stronger because of the otherworldliness of being dead.

But she had to do this. She rode through the screaming wind and snow, and saw him, her beloved Viserion, with that monster on his back. 

She rode straight for him, crashing into him with all Drogon’s might, unseating the Night King and sending him plummeting to the snowy ground below. 

“Now!” She told Grey Worm. “Aim for the eyes or neck.”

Grey Worm’s first spear shot through Viserion’s wing, and the second missed, because they had to roll Drogon out of the way as the Night King threw an ice spear at them. The third struck true, lodging in Viserion’s neck and sending him shrieking to his second death.

One of the White Walkers was moving ominously toward the Night King, holding another spear. Grey Worm threw their last spear at him and he shattered, taking a few thousand wights with him. 

Daenerys urged Drogon to fly back to Winterfell. 

When they landed, Grey Worm’s eyes fixed on her arm in horror. 

“You’re injured, my queen,” he told her urgently.

She looked. The spear the Night King had thrown, must have grazed her arm. In the moment, she hadn’t even felt it.

She asked Grey Worm to bring a Dothraki healer to her. There was no way she was going to trust Winterfell’s maester.

Her coat was thick, and lined with leather, so the slash on her arm was not nearly as bad as she’d thought it would be. But now she wondered if she should have armor. If her dragons should have armor. The Night King would likely try again to take one of her two remaining dragons, and in the battle with the Lannisters, Drogon had been hit by a giant crossbow shot. He’d destroyed the crossbow, but what was to stop them from building more? 

She found out Theon Greyjoy had arrived at Winterfell, so she found him to ask if he had any word on his sister.

He told her that he’d rescued Yara but what was left of her ships were unfit to sail. That she was building more, to serve Daenerys, but Theon himself wished to stay and fight the dead with the Starks.

“You’re certain Yara is not on your uncle’s ship?”

“I am.”

“Good. I believe I promised you and Yara that I would help you murder an uncle. I intend to keep that promise. I also intend to keep my promise to destroy the Night King. But I’m not fighting him here. I’m leaving later today.”

“Leaving? Jon said the Night King has a hundred thousand at least. If you leave, we don’t stand a chance.”

“The Northerners don’t want us here. Lady Sansa stated that we are a burden. One man spit when he saw me, and Jon apparently told everyone that I would not have helped if he hadn’t bent the knee, even though I changed my position on that, and pledged my help without his doing so. I’m not wanted here. I will not force my rule or my protection on anyone. Please be careful. I hope you survive.”

He looked at her sadly. “There’s no way to change your mind?”

“Not unless the North as a whole asks me to stay. But so long as they believe I’m forcing myself on them, no. I won’t do that.”

Daenerys entered the Great Hall where the men were gathered, planning and arguing. Sansa glared at her, and Jon watched her with an unreadable expression. 

“I’ve left provisions to make up for the food you so generously provided for me in these last days,” she told Sansa. “And my people ate from our own provisions.” She turned to face the icy glares of the Northmen. “I imagine my counsel means nothing to any of you. But you have children. In the name of mercy and their innocence, I will give you some counsel and you may do as you choose. Move south. You have ten thousand men, maybe fewer, since the craven Glover decided to leave here. The Night King has over one hundred thousand.”

“And a dragon,” Ser Spittle added. Daenerys had no idea of the wretch’s true name, and didn’t care. 

“He no longer has a dragon,” Daenerys said. “The Commander of my Unsullied army and I rode Drogon North and killed Viserion. Grey Worm also killed one of the White Walkers, so that lessened his numbers. Still, it’s over a hundred thousand.”

“You went alone to kill the Night King’s dragon?” Jon demanded, and she turned to him. His eyes looked severe with worry, and she almost weakened. 

“No, Your Grace,” she said, underscoring his title with her voice. “As I said, I went with Drogon and Grey Worm.” She turned back to the room, and they’d fallen utterly silent, staring at her. “If you stay here, you will die,” she told them. “You do not have the numbers. It’s your choice. The choice before, was to accept my alliance or fight on your own. You’ve made your choice. Now the choice is between your land and your people. I hope you make the right choice this time.” She turned to Jon. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

The trip back to Dragonstone was somber and Daenerys was impatient. She was going over maps, searching for areas to fight the dead that would be more defensible than Winterfell. 

Jorah stood beside her, telling her which castles had the best defenses.

“I need to destroy Euron’s fleet and take out the Golden Company. Then we will launch an attack on Kings Landing and garrison it,” she said decisively.

“Kings Landing? I thought you’d decided not to take the throne.”

“I’m not going to take the throne. There are caches of wildfire all over Kings Landing. We’ll take the city and hold Cersei as a prisoner. I want the wildfire.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first Jon POV and I hope I didn’t mess it up too badly lol!   
> He’s in the hall at Winterfell and pretty mad at himself and almost everybody else. Trying to plan their next move.

Three

She was gone. And with her, any chance of defeating or even surviving the Night King.  
Jon sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, watching his people milling around. They would die, he thought. There were not nearly enough men. 

He’d told Daenerys, “We’ll fight with the men we have.” He remembered telling her those very words at Dragonstone, in her map room.

The men they have. His people. His home. He’d actually allowed himself to hope, to believe that they would live. That they would win.

Sansa sat down beside him. “Are you all right?”

He turned to her sharply. “We’re all about to be killed. We’ll be corpses marching south. But I guess you’re happy, you don’t have to feed any extra mouths and soon we won’t need food at all.”

“Jon, she-“

“Don’t. Do not say a word about her. You don’t even know her.”

Sansa lowered her eyes. “What should we do?”

“She made a good point about moving south. But I don’t know if we have time now. The dead can move fairly quickly when they have to. We have too many here who are old, sick, frail.”

“You have to think of something. You’re our king.”

Jon glared at her, then gave a harsh, sardonic laugh. “Didn’t you say to be smart, that I should listen to you? You were the one who didn’t want her here. What are your thoughts?”

Sansa looked at him, her eyes hurt. Then she stood to address the room. “I know we are in a dire situation,” she said. “But we are of the North. We will fight.”

The room erupted in cheers, and Jon shook his head.

“Aye, we’ll fight. We Northerners can at least die fighting. Or we can move south. We may not survive still. But at least we have a chance.”

“I’d rather die fighting than running,” Lord Manderly said. 

“You once said you didn’t want more Manderlys dying for nothing,” Jon said. “If we stay here, we’ll die, and I promise you, it will be for nothing.” Jon stood. “You are my people. This is my home. If you all choose to stay, I’ll stay with you and fight. But this is no ordinary enemy. There can be no satisfaction in killing his soldiers, because every man who dies here will be serving his army when the Night King crushes us and moves on to the next House. We can’t beat him in a straight fight. My hope was that with enough men, we could fight until we drew him out, and then kill him. If we kill him, we kill the entire army. We don’t have enough men to do that now.”

His eyes went over the faces in the room. Bran’s showed no emotion at all, many of the others showed fear or resentment.

They resent me now for not being able to do the impossible, he thought. 

He was angry at them for disrespecting Daenerys to the point she’d decided to leave. Angry at himself for not standing up for her. Angry at her for leaving. 

I should have defended her, he berated himself. I should have told Jaime Lannister that if he harmed her I’d kill him. Jon did not believe the Kingslayer would hurt her, but why should she believe that? She felt unsafe. And why should she stay, knowing no one had her back?

The men were arguing amongst themselves about whether to stay and fight or head south. 

Jon listened to them and their heated discussion, their voices mingling into a cacophony. His head was aching. 

“One other thing we should keep in mind,” he added. “If we move the people who are unable to fight, we need to have people who can fight, go with them. To protect them.”

Tyrion Lannister entered the hall and walked to the table, sitting beside him. “I’m assuming there has been no progress,” he noted, listening to the dissonant voices rising throughout the hall. 

“No,” Jon said, looking at him. He wasn’t wearing his Hand pin, and he looked beleaguered. “She took the pin?”

Tyrion winced. “She said I could keep it, but to stop wearing it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. She’s quite angry with me.”

“Aye, she’s angry at me too.”

“Will your people move south?”

“Looks like some of them might. To move the most vulnerable people. And then some of the fighters can be convinced to go with them to defend them. You should go too.”

“I’ll have you know I led a sortie in the Battle of the Blackwater.”

“I’m sure you did. But there’s no outthinking this. It’s just a wall of dead about to crush us.”

“What about you?”

“If anyone is staying, I have to stay with them”

“I feared you would say that. Daenerys said she would allow me to take refuge on Dragonstone. I’m fairly sure she would allow the women and children to do so as well.”

“I’m not so sure about that. She’s angry at the North.”

“True. But I’ve known her for some time. I know she won’t-“

“You don’t know. She might consider it disrespectful.”

“I’ll send a raven.”

“We don’t have time.”

“If she turns us away, at least we’ll be on water. Reasonably safe from the army of the dead.”

Jon nodded, relenting. “All right.” Jon stood again. “We can send the women and children to Dragonstone. Tyrion said Daenerys offered to let him take refuge there.”

“She left us. What makes you think she’ll let us hide our children there?” Lord Cerwyn asked.

“She left us because we all acted like ungrateful garbage,” Jon said. This silenced the room. “She doesn’t owe us anything. Those of us who stay here are probably going to die. Adding more soldiers to the army of the dead while depleting the army of the living. And hearing you all talk, and judging by how you treated our last best hope of survival, maybe you want the North to be a graveyard. But she’s not like you. She won’t harm our children. If she doesn’t want them there she won’t cry about feeding them, like an entitled bitch, she’ll find somewhere else for them.”

Jon felt suddenly, excruciatingly tired. He turned from them and went to his quarters. He threw himself across his bed. Unbidden, the image of her in bed with him on the ship flashed through his mind. 

Her silvery hair, loose and falling around her beautiful face, her lithe curves and small, firm breasts, all that perfect porcelain skin. The heat of her. The scent of her. Her smile, her laugh, her gasping In unendurable pleasure as he fucked her. Her showing up on her dragon to rescue them all. He loved her. He wanted her. He missed her so much. 

And now he and his cold people had driven her away. 

I loved you, she had told him. But now he guessed she didn’t. 

He couldn’t think about that. Not with the army of the dead descending on them. He would likely never see her again.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany takes KL, basically she does exactly what she did in S8 E5, minus burning the city and getting murdered which was total BS.  
> She makes plans then for her next move.  
> I hope you like it!

Four

Kings Landing was surprisingly easy to take.   
Daenerys had planned the attack carefully, from her map room at Dragonstone, and had no intention of allowing those wretched crossbows to take her down. 

She started with Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, attacking from high above, where the sun reflecting on clouds would make them hard to see. Then she struck, sending swathes of fire over the ships. Flying fast and low, to make certain Drogon could not be targeted, so that none of those giant arrows could get anywhere near them, they destroyed the fleet in minutes.

She’d stationed men along the coast to capture survivors.

She took out the ramparts next, raining fire over the weapons there and the soldiers manning them, and then she went for the front gates, blasting them to rubble and taking the line of Golden Company soldiers with it. 

The Unsullied and Dothraki charged through the breach, and Daenerys proceeded to destroy the rest of the Golden Company before returning to the walls to burn any remaining crossbows. 

She waited now; the next step would be to take the Keep itself, and she had to allow her men to get through the Lannister army. She couldn’t very well burn the Lannister soldiers without burning her own.

She landed Drogon on the roof of a building, and Rhaegal landed on another. She’d had Rhaegal stay behind for the first attack, until she was certain they’d burned all those crossbows. Rhaegal was not as fast as Drogon, and she was unwilling to risk him.  
Now both dragons perched above the city.

They roared over the din of battle; and then there was quiet. Below, she heard the sound of thousands of men dropping their swords.

It was over. Her men proceeded to storm the Keep. 

She was told later that it had taken eight men to kill Cersei’s monstrosity of a guard, a man named Gregor Clegane. 

And the city was hers.

She remembered Yara Greyjoy telling her the city would fall in a day. 

It had fallen in under an hour. She felt a sense of satisfaction, but it tasted bitter in her mouth. If she’d listened to Yara from the first, Lady Olenna would be alive and so would Viserion.

Varys and Tyrion had claimed they wanted to protect the civilians of Kings Landing, and yet not one civilian had perished.

In the siege that they wanted her to lay instead, those same people would have starved.

She was angry now. She should never have listened to them, never.

She walked through the city, and she could see terrified people looking out their windows. She wanted to stop, to talk to them, to assure them that she was not here to hurt them. But it wouldn’t matter, she knew. She’d gone to save the lives of the North, and had been treated with derision. This would be no different.

She entered the Keep where her guards were holding Cersei and her Hand, a man named Qyburn. The headless Gregor Clegane and gutted Euron Greyjoy laid dead beside them.

“You gave me your word you would not attack until your monster hunt was done,” Cersei told her, her voice like ice. “Of course the word of a mad king’s daughter wasn’t any good,” she spat.

“You said you would send men North,” Daenerys pointed out. “Once you broke your word, you left me no obligation to keep mine.”

“These people will never accept you,” Cersei said. “You’ll always be a foreign whore to them.”

“That may very well be, but their stupidity and small minds will make no difference once they’re soldiers of the dead. And I will not allow the Night King and his armies to set their sights on Essos once they’re finished with your wretched and backwards continent. The Night King killed one of my dragons. He will make the whole world a graveyard if we let him. I’m not going to let him.”

“And yet you left the North,” Cersei said.

“They don’t want me there. It’s as you said, they’ll never see me as anything more than a foreign whore. So I gave them what they wanted.” 

“You left them to die.”

“Freedom means making your own choice. If they prefer to die than fight beside me and my men, then let them have their honorable Northern death.”

A smirk played at the corners of Cersei’s mouth. “My brother said you would make the world a better place.”

“And I intend to. But what’s better to me, and what’s better to them, are two entirely different things.”

“I suppose you’ll feed me to your dragons now,” Cersei said, looking at her defiantly. If she was afraid, it didn’t show.

“I don’t feed my dragons garbage, nor do I feed them poison. This is a garrison. For now. I’m not taking the throne. You will be my prisoner until we destroy the Night King. Then you and everyone else on this ridiculous continent can go back to your stupid little games and wars and destroying each other.” 

“You’re not taking the throne? I find that hard to believe.”

“Whether or not you believe me is a matter of indifference to me. I’m not here to earn your belief, your trust, or your good opinion. I’m here to destroy the Night King.” She turned to her men. “Take her. Make sure she’s fed, and do not harm her.”

Daenerys then went to look at the Iron Throne. It stood before her, ugly and hideous. The end of all her roads until very recently. She was annoyed with herself now. Because she wanted it, she really wanted it. It looked just as it had in her vision in the House of the Undying, except in that vision it had sat in a ruined room covered in snow. She shuddered. Was that what would come to be? The Night King would destroy Kings Landing and everyone in it. 

No, not the people, she decided. She would evacuate them. 

How can I order them to leave? I’m not their queen.

She thought again about Jon. It hurt so much. She had trusted him. He was the best of all honor and courage this land possessed. And yet he’d allowed his people to believe her an intractable tyrant, rather than take responsibility for his choice in bending the knee to her. He hadn’t defended her, had allowed Sam to think she had no right to be queen. 

She shouldn’t be, Sam had said, and Jon, instead of telling Sam what he had seen in her to make him bend the knee, had simply said it was treason to say otherwise; he had accepted it as a truth that they must abide, that she shouldn’t be queen. 

If Jon, who she had loved and trusted, could be so duplicitous, what could she expect from anyone else in Westeros?

How could she rule over people who didn’t want her? Who would as soon see her dead?

She couldn’t. If she took that throne, it would only be a matter of time before she was assassinated. Jon would tell his sisters about his true parents, and although she’d never met Arya, she had not a shadow of a doubt Sansa would crow the information from the rooftops. And of course these people were too stupid to recognize that Rhaegar was already married, had children. 

All I wanted was a home, she thought. It was all I ever wanted back, the house with the red door and the lemon tree outside her window.

This would never be home. She’d found no love here, only virulent hate. 

She turned from the throne her ancestor had made, and searched for the war room. 

Instead she found a ridiculous floor painted with a map. 

Jorah was standing there looking at it. 

“This is stupid,” she said. “The painted table was much better.”

Jorah laughed. “No doubt of that, Your Grace.”

“I need to send out ravens to everyone in Westeros. Have all who can fight to come here, and anyone who cannot should be taken somewhere safe. Dragonstone. Pyke. Jon said the dead can’t swim. Islands are the best option for them.”

“Riverrun can be made into an Island if they open their sluice gates,” Jorah offered. “And the Twins-“

“No. The Night King can freeze the rivers far too quickly. The place where I lost Viserion was once a river. Riverrun is likely a better place to make a stand than Winterfell would have been. But we don’t want to make a stand, we want to destroy him and his army utterly. Hiding helpless and vulnerable people there who can’t possibly mount a defense would be a death sentence.”

“The Neck is swampland. There are suckholes, quicksands, grass that looks like it’s solid, but turns to water once you walk upon it. Maybe-“

“I imagine it’s treacherous for living men. For dead men, maybe not, particularly when all the morass is frozen solid.” She sighed impatiently. “This is all academic if I can’t get the people evacuated, or have the soldiers brought here. I’ll send out ravens, I’ll have Cersei write letters as well. But who knows if they’ll listen?”

“The Citadel,” Jorah said.

“The Citadel?”

“Everyone in Westeros trusts the Citadel. You and Cersei can and should send your letters. But if you have the Citadel do so as well, it will be far more effective.”

Daenerys nodded. She felt queasy. Not about the Citadel. In general. “All right,” she said. “I’ll speak to Cersei and then go to the Citadel.”

“If I may, Your Grace, I suggest you get some rest. You stormed a city today. The throne is yours, even if you choose not to take it. You should rest before you go on another long trip.”

Daenerys had to acknowledge that it was a good idea. She was tired and had been seized by bouts of nausea, and a hot bath followed by a long nap sounded divine.

“Alright. If you can, start finding out where the caches of wildfire are hidden. Find out if there are pyromancers here who can make more. And if at all possible, see if we can find a shadowbinder.”

“A shadowbinder, Your Grace?”

“Yes. The Night King was far too prepared for us the day I lost Viserion. How did they get him out of the water? They must have had chains. Is there a forge North of the Wall? I don’t want that fucker to know what I’m doing.”

He smiled. “I’ll see what I can find, Your Grace.”


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany sends letters, gets Cersei to write letters, goes and tells off the Citadel, and gets them to send letters as well. Lots of bickering.

Five 

Having Cersei write letters was like having an overtired child agree to a nap, and Daenerys was increasingly annoyed.

“You realize if we don’t gather the people here, they will overrun us and we will die,” she snapped, exasperated.

Cersei looked at her coldly. “You have dragons. Dragons kill the monsters. What is it you need?”

Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath to steady her voice. “There are too many of them for my dragons to kill them all before we are overrun. There are sick people, old people, people too young to fight, all over this continent.”

“Then what use are they?” Cersei demanded.

“You’re one cold bitch, do you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“They are no use to us. But if the Night King resurrects them, they WILL be of use to him. They don’t feel weakness or infirmity once they’re dead. If we let them die, they will add to his army. Are you going to prove to be as stupid as the Northerners? Because I don’t-“ she broke off as a wave of nausea washed over her. She turned abruptly from Cersei, running to a cistern near one of the arched doorways, and vomited into it.

She shivered a little, then walked back to Cersei. 

“Your Grace, are you all right?” Missandei asked, her hand resting on Daenerys’ shoulder. 

She nodded, smiling at her. She then glared at Cersei. “If you’ve poisoned me, I swear to you-“

“Poisoned you? Well, you’re as paranoid as your father, aren’t you? How would I poison you? I’m watched every minute by YOUR guards. The only thing that poisoned you, was whatever cock you were riding before you got here.”

Daenerys looked at her in confused shock. “That’s impossible.”

“Oh? Whoever has been giving you your moon tea has utterly failed you.”

Daenerys sighed impatiently. “I can’t have children.”

Cersei laughed then. “I see your Maesters are as stupid as you are, if that’s what they told you, because you are pregnant.”

“A witch cursed me,” she snapped.

“A witch cursed you, so you assumed you could be left to your whoring in peace. Well, your witch was as qualified as your maester, because you’ve a bastard in your belly as sure as I’m sitting here. I’ve been pregnant five times, and I know what it looks like.”

Daenerys sat for a moment, absorbing this. Despite everything, she felt joy consume her. A child! She didn’t want to allow herself to hope, but it was irresistible.

And the stakes in this were suddenly much higher than an ugly chair and rulership over a pack of treacherous xenophobes.

“If you don’t write these letters, we will all die,” she said. “As tempted as I am to just leave Westeros to it, I can’t risk all of you attacking Essos, once you’re living corpses. The Northerners chose death over uniting against the Night King. Will you truly do the same?”

Cersei took the quill and started writing the letters. 

Once they were written, Daenerys read them to make sure Cersei wasn’t writing treacherous messages; if she couldn’t trust Tyrion, who she’d considered a friend, and couldn’t trust Jon, who she’d believed to be honorable, she certainly couldn’t trust Cersei. 

She gave the letters to Jorah along with her own, to bring to the rookery.

“Make sure they’re sent,” she advised. “We can’t trust anyone here.”

Alone, she silently allowed herself a moment to think about her possible pregnancy. She didn’t want to let herself believe it, because she didn’t want to be so deeply disappointed.

Missandei came in with some tea, wearing a huge smile. 

“Congratulations, Your Grace. I know his badly you’ve wanted a child.”

“Thank you, Missandei. I don’t want to give myself false hope.”

“I understand.” She drank the tea gratefully. “I’m going to the Citadel next. I’d like you to go somewhere safe. If anything happens to you, I would be lost. You’ve always stood by me. You’ve never betrayed me. I love you.”

“And I love you, Your Grace-“

“When we are alone, please call me Daenerys. I don’t have any family anymore. Not family I can trust,” she added, thinking of Jon. “You, Jorah, Grey Worm. You’re my family.”

Missandei smiled at her. “I can do that, Daenerys.”

After her tea, she was as ready as she would ever be to go to the Citadel.

She still had to be careful. She had no idea where the Night King might be, and she certainly didn’t trust the Westerosi not to murder her.

Once she, Drogon and Rhaegal arrived at Oldtown, she walked into the Citadel, bracing herself.

A man sat at a desk, glaring up at her. 

“No women,” he told her.

“I realize your continent is ridiculous in your rules regarding this matter, but I’m here with an urgent message for whoever it is in charge here. One would think a place of science wouldn’t be so primitive, but I suppose it’s the best you can do, being Westerosi.”

“I’ll tell Maester Ebrose you’re here.”

“Thank you. My name is-“

“I know who you are,” he snapped. 

He turned and walked away, then returned a few moments later, to show her into a room where a group of elderly men sat. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” the man at the head of the table greeted her. “Please sit down.”

She did so. “I’m here because, as you may have heard, the Night King has crossed the Wall and is about to storm Westeros. I understand that you are one of the few organizations the thick headed fools on this continent will actually listen to. If you don’t want to die, you must send letters telling every man, woman and child to go to Kings Landing as quickly as possible. If they cannot make that trip, because of illness, they should send ravens immediately to Kings Landing to let me know. As long as I am able, I will send ships to harbors close to them, to bring them to safety.” 

“Kings Landing, is it? Maester Wolkan of Winterfell asked us to have all the fighting men sent there. He said that Brandon Stark was-“

“How long ago did you receive this raven from Winterfell?” She demanded.

“A few moons.”

“What wretched fools you are. You ignored this raven, I take it.”

“It seemed far more likely to be a ploy by you, to move the armies North so that you might attack the rest.”

“I see. Well, your stupidity and paranoia has cost you the North. Any day now Winterfell will be attacked by the dead. They don’t have enough men, and most of them will die. I never needed tricks or ploys. I have armies and dragons. I’ve taken Kings Landing, and both Cersei Lannister and I have sent out ravens telling the people to do exactly what I am asking you to tell them.”

The men exchanged looks of concern. 

“Samwell Tarly suggested we have every scroll and book concerning the Night King and his army, sent to every Maester, to see how he was defeated the last time,” Maester Ebrose mused.

“And yet when he arrived at Winterfell, he didn’t ask Brandon Stark. I wonder if there’s something in the water at Winterfell that makes people stupid. Although if you didn’t take his counsel, I suppose the water here has the same effect.”

“You don’t have a particularly pleasant disposition, do you?” Maester Ebrose demanded.

Daenerys sighed. “A few years ago, I asked my dear friend Jorah Mormont why anyone should follow me. Aside from claims and titles, he said I have a gentle heart. That I would be not only respected and feared, but that I would be loved.

“It’s a comforting idea, isn’t it? But when I arrived here, I found respect only from my allies, most of whom were murdered due to the incompetence of my former Hand-and I’m being generous to call it incompetence. I found only treachery. The people here neither loved nor respected me, and frankly did not even have the sense to fear me. 

“Those in the North, whose alliance I sought in order to save their lives, treated me like horseshit found on their favorite shoe. The Lady of Winterfell claimed quite publicly that feeding us was a terrible burden, rather than seek a private audience with me, where she would have found that we brought our own provisions.

“My efforts there were not only unappreciated, they were reviled. I have thus relieved them of my burdensome presence.”

“And now you’ve taken the throne,” Maester Ebrose observed. “We’ve been told Cersei Lannister has contracted the Golden Company.”

“She did. The Golden Company is no more.”

After a moment of uneasy staring, Maester Ebrose continued. “We understand that Euron Greyjoy is also allied with her. The Silence and it’s fleet are the most fearsome-“

“Were.”

“Pardon?”

“The Silence and it’s fleet WERE the most fearsome, I’m sure. Drogon made short work of that fleet. It’s all floating debris now, what’s left of it, and Euron Greyjoy was gutted. 

“It’s as I said. I don’t need tricks or ploys, and I’m not a treacherous snake like you Westerosi.”

“And you have three dragons.”

She winced. “I have two dragons. The Night King killed one of them while I was attempting to save Jon Snow from a moronic mission he’d planned with my former Hand.”

“Does this Night King have a dragon then? If we are to understand, he can raise the dead-“

“He did. The Commander of my Unsullied rode with me on Drogon to take my child out of his enslavement. The Night King no longer has a dragon, but he does have an army of over a hundred thousand. And he’s past the Wall.”

At their blank stare that was just starting to show the beginnings of terror, she smiled. Almost kindly. 

“So in answer to your question, no. I do not have a particularly pleasant disposition. I’m no longer here to win the love and respect of your people. I’m no longer here with the hopes of befriending any of you or earning the right to rule here. You said I took the throne, but in fact I only took the city to garrison it. I have only three reasons for being here. 

“The first is that the Night King killed my dragon. The second is that if his army destroys Westeros, he may turn his eye to Essos next, where my own people are. The third is that, despite the malice and stupidity of your people, the children are blameless. I myself spent my childhood hiding from assassins and my adult life trying to overcome prejudice against me, because of my father’s crimes. For these reasons, I intend to destroy the Night King and his army.

“If you send out these ravens immediately instead of sitting here doing nothing, we have a chance. We can evacuate anyone who cannot fight, and rally all those who can.

“If not, I’m going back to Essos to try to start building a defense there. It will be quite some time before the Night King can make his way across the Narrow Sea. What’s it to be?”

The men looked at each other and nodded. “We’ll send the ravens. And we will have every Maester here dedicated to looking over every bit of lore we have on this subject, and send it to you.”

“Thank you.” She stood up and left the building, climbing into Drogon and flying back to Kings Landing.

She wondered if there was a way to find out when the last of the living crossed the Neck.

Indeed, it was a morass; but how easy to bury caches of wildfire under that morass, only to ignite it as the dead attempted to cross?

It would severely diminish their numbers. 

She would look into that and also armor as soon as she arrived back at the Red Keep.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon POV chapter, some people leave Winterfell and others stay.

Six

Jon was angry, maybe angrier than he’d ever been. The Northern Lords were being ridiculous, and there was nothing he could do about it.

They would not allow their children to go to Dragonstone. Jon had underestimated just how much they hated Daenerys, and he couldn’t understand it. He could understand their hating Aerys; he hated Aerys himself. But Daenerys was not like him. 

She would have saved us, he thought, and almost wanted to sit down and cry like a child. But of course that was not an option. He was a reluctant king with a kingdom that seemed hell bent on self destruction.

Tyrion had told the Northern lords, that day in the Great Hall, that if anyone survived this war, they would have Jon Snow to thank.

Jon wondered now if Dany had felt slighted by that. In his mind played, over and over, the endless slights, the slings and arrows, the cold looks, the spitting. And she’d overheard the conversation between himself and Sam. She had felt unsafe with Jaime Lannister at Winterfell, and Jon had done nothing to ease her fears.

He shook his head. He could not keep dwelling on it. She had left and that was that.

She had told him she still intended to destroy the Night King. But how? If the Night King moved across all Westeros, she would have to fight an entire continent of men, women and children. She would likely die, too, he thought, and despite his anger at her for leaving, he was terrified at the idea.

His people had decided that they would send all the women, children and elderly, anyone who couldn’t fight, toward the Eyrie. They’d agreed that two thousand fighting men would accompany them, leaving some eight thousand behind at Winterfell where they would try to make a stand against the Night King. Jon would stay with them. He’d had difficulty convincing Sam to go, but Gilly and Little Sam had been the weight on the scale that convinced him. 

Jon didn’t want to be angry at Sam. He’d said what he said out of grief for his brother, out of faith in Jon. He had no way to know Dany had heard them.

It’s my fault, Jon thought. Mine more so than Sam’s. If I’d defended her, if I’d explained what she did for me, what she lost...

But it didn’t matter. 

Sansa had sent a raven to Lord Glover to let him know that Daenerys had released Jon from his pledge, that the North once again had its freedom and its king.

What would that freedom do for them, mere days from enslavement in death to the Night King, Jon couldn’t say.

But with Glover’s men, they had a better chance than without them.

Sansa entered the solar and sat down across from him.

“They’re ready. Bran agreed to go, but he’s not happy about it. He says the Night King wants him.”

“Then he should be as far south as possible.”

Sansa nodded. “Will you speak to them before they leave?”

Jon sighed. “I guess I should. You’re leaving too, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not leaving my people.”

“Sansa, the people leaving are your people, too. If I fall in this, what’s left of the North will need someone to look to. You’re Ned Stark’s daughter. You have to go.”

Sansa’s bright blue eyes filled with tears, and she stood, embracing him tightly. 

“I hope you make it,” she whispered. 

“I do too,” he said, hugging her.

He went to bid farewell to his people. He suspected he would never see them again. He embraced Sam, who was trying not to weep. He told him that Gilly was with child. 

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Jon.”

“I hope it’s a girl, then,” he said, laughing as he teased his friend. 

Brienne looked torn when she realized Sansa was leaving. She was sworn to protect her. Jon encouraged her to leave as well, and Jaime too. The women and children would need protection. 

The group, some walking, a few on horses, began to move away from Winterfell with most of the stores of food. 

He watched as they headed south.

Silent as a cat, Arya suddenly appeared beside him. 

They stood together on the castle wall, watching Sansa, Bran, and the rest of them moving South.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys makes plans, changes up her dress code, gets two visitors and worries about Jon despite herself. 
> 
> Your support has been so amazing and inspiring! Thank you all!

Seven 

Daenerys and Cersei sat with Qyburn, Jorah, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Qhono. They’d managed to find a large map, and had laid it across the table. 

“I thought about what you said,” Daenerys told Jorah. “About the Neck. We could fill the swamps with wildfire. Send men to guard the area, and bring any living people to harbors to keep them from crossing the Neck and get them to safety. They’ll have to stay far enough away that they won’t be seen when the dead approach. Once they do, they can send a signal and I’ll fly overhead. As the Neck fills with the dead, Drogon can strafe the area with fire and that will ignite the wildfire. That should at least lessen his numbers.

“We have to figure out a way to get the wildfire there, and then how to move it into the Neck. With all that swamp and quicksand, men could trip and fall while traversing it. I don’t think that’s ideal when carrying wildfire.”

“Indeed not” Jorah said. 

“I need to know how to move it anyway. I breached the wall when I took Kings Landing. It will be hard to trap the dead here with the wall broken.”

“Trap the dead here?”

“In the next few days, I’m going to begin evacuating the city, only keeping the most essential people here. Smiths particularly. My men are mining dragonglass all hours of the day. They will be shipping it here, and we will have weapons made from it. Everyone who is fighting will need dragonglass weapons unless they are carrying Valyrian steel. Have you had any luck finding pyromancers who can make more wildfire?”

“I believe I can make it, Your Grace,” Qyburn offered. 

“Good. My hope was to lure the Night King and the dead army here. Once the army entered the city, I could have started burning them and it would set off the wildfire. But the entire city would have to be lined with it. And with the gate breached, it would be far too easy for them to get out. And not as easy for anyone fighting them in the city to get out before the fires start, without being beset by the dead as they go.”

“Why have anyone fight them at all, if you plan on burning them?” Cersei asked.

“There would have to be some presence in the city to lure the dead here. But the size of the city would mean a less dense concentration of them, and so it would take a lot more wildfire. How are the walls at Casterly Rock?”

“Casterly Rock?” Cersei demanded. “Why?”

“It’s very defensible. It can only be attacked by the dead on one side, because they don’t sail or swim, and its set in a mountain. A lot of wights could be taken out from the walls before they even enter. With trebuchets, pitch, and archers on the walls, we could mount a significant defense. It would take longer to breach a wall that’s not already been breached. 

“When it finally is breached, our soldiers would escape through the sewers. Your brother gave me quite a vivid description of them. They run straight into the Sunset Sea, don’t they? We’ll block off every other way out. And the wights can’t swim. Once all our people are out, we can have them taken by boat to a ship, set off the signal, and my dragons will rain down fire. If the entire castle is tricked out with wildfire, it will kill most of them.”

“Casterly Rock is my family’s ancestral home,” Cersei told her coldly.

“And the Lannister family has been nothing but kind to me,” Daenerys said sarcastically. “If you have a better idea...”

“Why not Dragonstone? Your ancestral home.”

“It’s an island. We need to send our women and children there. The dead can’t approach it at all, unless they freeze the water around it. And if they do, they’ll be able to approach from any side. It’s not as defensible as Casterly Rock. If you’re going to suggest ideas, kindly suggest good ones.”

“What about the Eyrie?”

“In the time it would take to get everyone to the Eyrie, along with the wildfire, the Night King would have passed it already.” 

Two Dothraki guards entered, with Melisandre, announcing that she had arrived to seek audience with Daenerys.

“Daenerys Stormborn,” she said, her eyes accusing. “You left the North.”

“They didn’t want me there.”

“Most if not all of them will die.”

“I can’t force my protection on them.”

“You will not go back?”

“Even if I wanted to, and I can assure you, I don’t, I wouldn’t get there in time. They didn’t want me there, as I said. I have no duty to them. I do have a duty to my own people, and I fail to see why I should have risked their lives to protect those who would kill us if they could.”

“Yet you are still in Westeros.”

“I must destroy the Night King.” Daenerys looked at Melisandre, scrutinizing. “You’re from Asshai. Are you a shadowbinder?”

“I am.”

“Can you cover our actions with shadows? I don’t want the Night King to be able to see our movements.”

Melisandre smiled then. “I believe I can.”

Daenerys had had armor made, for herself and for her dragons. It had to be light, but strong, and Jorah had suggested chainmail. Full plate armor would have added tremendous weight, that would not have worked at all. 

Daenerys studied herself in the mirror. She wore a chainmail hauberk over a knee length leather tunic, slitted along the sides for movement, with leather breeches. She’d traded her fur coat for a supple leather that was quilted and lined in areas that would cover vital organs with boiled leather for extra protection. 

She sighed. It certainly wasn’t as lovely as her previous attire, and some small part of her mourned that. But her focus must now be on staying alive, especially now with the possibility of a child inside her.

It only took a few days for people to begin arriving at Kings Landing, and Yara Greyjoy arrived with her ships; she did not have many yet, but as the war with Cersei was suspended, the ships were needed more to transport helpless people to islands than for battle.

Yara grinned at her as she entered the council chambers. “Look at you,” she said, her eyes raking Daenerys appreciatively. “I like it.”

Daenerys smiled ruefully. “Do you? I was just mourning my old wardrobe.” 

“This is better. More likely to keep you alive, and...well, I’ll keep my other thoughts to myself.” 

Daenerys smirked at her. “We have to move people from here to Dragonstone, to the Arbor, to your Iron Islands. People who cannot fight have to be taken out of the way. They’ll die otherwise, and worse, they’ll be much stronger as dead soldiers.”

“I’m at your service, Your Grace. I was happy to hear you finally adhered to my advice about taking the throne.”

“I took the city. Not the throne. When this war with the Night King is over, I’m leaving Westeros.”

“Why? You have the city. It’s yours. And you promised me you’d give me back the Iron Islands. The Salt Throne. How will I keep it?”

“I will ally with you, to enforce your independence if it becomes necessary.”

Yara smiled again. “That should certainly convince any enemies to leave us be. And you kept your promise to murder my uncle.”

“I did.” Daenerys’ eyes saddened. “I was not able to convince your brother to leave with me. He wanted to defend the Starks. I couldn’t stay there. The entire North hated me.”

“Theon feels a deep loyalty to them. I wasn’t able to convince him, either. It’s mind boggling to me that you would go there to save their stupid skins and they would spit on you.”

“Almost literally,” she said, remembering Ser Spittle. 

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

The first groups of old, of children, of men and women who were not warriors, had been sent away on ships, and soldiers were being given their dragonglass weapons.

Daenerys was practicing her own spear throwing and archery. She would eventually have to ride out with Drogon to patrol, and she would not always be able to bring Grey Worm. She needed to be able to take out White Walkers herself, or risk being taken down by them, and losing Drogon.

She had to plan. Soon all of Westeros would receive the ravens from the Citadel, Cersei and herself. Daenerys hoped they would heed the warnings and come as quickly as possible.

But for now, she sat alone in her chambers. In front of her allies, she must be strong, to be their strength. In front of enemies, she must be strong so they would not be inclined to attack her. 

They must only ever see fire in her eyes, never tears.

They must see the imperious, impervious queen.

But alone, she wrapped her arms around herself and allowed the weight of dread and fear curl around her.

She could not entertain even the thought of defeat.

But Jon...as angry as she was, as firm her certainty that she’d done the right thing...she knew he would likely die. 

And for all the fealty and loyalty and obedience she was able to command of her fierce warriors, her own heart was a disloyal, disobedient thing that broke again and again, bleeding over her steel resolve as images beset her of Jon’s body, his beautiful body, dead and broken. Of his obsidian dark eyes flying open, bright and piercing blue.

She laid down and cried. Tomorrow she would be strong. The sun would see no tears from her, and nor would her allies, nor would her enemies.

But now, as she thought of nights on a ship from Dragonstone to Whiteharbor, of strong sculpted arms holding her, of calloused hands caressing her, she cried. The father of her child and the one who held her heart, whether she liked it or not, would surely die.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of Winterfell. More a massacre than a battle, but they tried.

Eight 

“Melisandre used to say, the night is dark and full of terrors,” Davos told Jon as they stood on the rampart of Winterfell.   
Jon nodded. No doubt she was right, he thought. Tormund had arrived earlier that day, warning them that there was little time now. The Night King was almost upon them. 

Jon had told him of the people who had moved South. The free folk’s most vulnerable had been sent along with them. 

“If you want to move south with them, it won’t be hard to catch up,” Jon told him. “They won’t be able to move too quickly.” 

“If you’re staying here to fight, little crow, I’m staying too.”

They had planned the best defense they could. 

Jon knew it wasn’t enough.

And it wasn’t. 

Images of Hardhome besieged him as they fought, knowing they would lose. 

The sheer numbers were enough to devastate their defenses. 

They fought their hardest, and Jon was proud of every one of them. But what was that pride?

Quickly the battle turned into a massacre. It was hard to see anything, all of life reduced to swirling wind, blood, ice, and the dead. 

By the time the living realized that escape was the only chance of survival, it was far too late for most of them.

They ran through the halls of Winterfell, only to be attacked by the dead who had been interred in the crypts. 

Jon tried to lead them out, those few still alive, through tunnels that hadn’t been used in years. As they ran, debris fell around them. Jon knew the Night King liked to leave destruction in his wake, Winterfell would suffer the same. Beams fell around them, as they ran and retreated in sheer despair. A loose beam broke from its place above, crashing into Jon’s skull. He fell forward, and blackness filled his senses.

The sky was grey when he woke, and a light snow fell around him. His head felt as if it were on fire. He tried to sit up, and dizziness overtook him.

“Easy there, little crow. We thought we lost you,” Tormund’s voice boomed next to him.

“How...” his mouth was parched, his voice hoarse. “How am I alive?” He looked around. Arya, he thought in panic. Where is she? “How many survivors? My sister?”

“I dragged your ass out of there. Your sister is alive. Fierce little thing. A little under a thousand survived.”

Jon shuddered. A little under a thousand. Out of eight thousand. He wanted to weep.

He looked around. He saw Arya, who was watching him, and she smiled weakly when she saw he was alive. She sat with Gendry Waters near a fire they’d built, but came over to him when she saw he was awake. 

“You scared me,” she said quietly. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“I hit my head pretty hard early on. But no. Not really. What’s the plan now?”

“Go south. Try to warn people as we go. Daenerys said she intended to destroy the Night King...“

“And then she just left us,” Arya said bitterly.

“What should she have done, Arya?”

“Stayed to fight?”

“She doesn’t owe us anything. Everyone treated her like garbage. She was afraid Jaime Lannister would try to kill her. Nobody stood up for her. And it was my fault. I told you all that I surrendered my crown to protect the North. I said I had a choice. Keep my crown, or protect the North. I said I chose the North. But Arya...that wasn’t true. She said she would help before I bent the knee.”

“Why did you bend the knee, then? Sansa said it was because you love her.”

“Aye, I love her. But that wasn’t why. It’s as she said before she left, she lost a dragon trying to save us. I saw the queen she would be. I believed in her. I was sick with remorse that she lost her dragon. But instead I allowed everyone to think she’d forced me into it to save the North. It was cowardly. And selfish. And I...I can’t forgive myself. If I’d done things differently she’d have stayed. And maybe we would have won.”

“Maybe,” Arya said. “I know Sansa and them were angry at you. But I respected your choice. We needed her armies and dragons. But I didn’t trust her.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I’ll never know her. She’s not one of us.”

“Not one of us? Arya, neither is Sandor Clegane, yet he’s your friend. Did you want Cersei to remain on the throne? Are we Lannisters? To see everyone but ourselves as enemies? If so, then she had no reason at all to help us. Because we aren’t one of hers, either.”

Arya sighed. “I see no reason to trust her.”

“And she saw no reason to trust us. And here we are.” They were both quiet for a few minutes, when Jon added, in a voice low with anguish, “you didn’t trust me either.”

“I trusted you.”

“I love her. I said she would be a good queen. But nobody trusted me on that. If you all had trusted me, maybe you’d have treated her like an ally instead of an enemy. Maybe Sansa would not have been such a bitch.”

“Sansa wanted to protect the North.”

“Aye, and look what’s left of the North now. Daenerys came to protect the North, too. But for her it wasn’t just tantrums and words. She would have actually protected us.”

Sandor Clegane had survived as well, as had Davos. 

Jon’s gaze followed the faces of broken men. Many of them were injured. They’d sent Maester Wolkan along with the women and children, and there was no one here to tend them.

Lord Manderly had lost a finger, and Lord Cerwyn had some injury to his belly. Glover and his men had not made it to Winterfell. 

Men sat with bleeding wounds that would fester. They had no food, no supplies. Jon bit back panic. 

His eyes rested on Herrath, the man who had spit out his water in contempt when he’d seen Jon with Daenerys. 

He felt a wave of blinding anger at him, that he should be alive when so many had died. 

The anger faded as he looked closer. The man’s face had been raked badly by the dead, leaving gashes across his face that would scar. Jon could not even see his eye under them, and he wondered in nauseated horror if the eye was gone. He’d lost half his hand and several fingers.

His sword hand, Jon thought. His anger turned to pity.

They began to walk. The painful and desperate walk south. 

Jon wondered if the men regretted staying at Winterfell to fight instead of moving south in the first place.

He wondered if they regretted their ingratitude and disrespect toward Daenerys. Or did they consider this state of affairs preferable to owing anything to Daenerys? 

Jon wondered how the battle would have gone if Daenerys had stayed.

As they walked in their pain, Jon wondered if they would have won. Would Daenerys had lived? As night fell and they huddled together in agony from their injuries, from their cold and hunger, Jon wondered if they would have been celebrating their victory feast? Drinking and laughing and alive, warm at Winterfell.

Would they have given Daenerys the respect she deserved, or continue to treat her as a tyrannical enemy?

He sat close to the fire, and tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. But looking at the men around him, most with injuries that would kill them before long, or would leave lasting damage, he couldn’t help but to think of it. 

They had lost their friends, their countrymen, their homes. Winterfell was a ruin. And the Night King was alive still with his army, moving to take them all.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner time at Kings Landing, after they receive news of Winterfell.

Nine

Supper at the Red Keep was somber. Melisandre had told them that Winterfell had fallen. 

Despite the warmth in the room, she felt cold. She couldn’t regret leaving. But she wondered what would have happened if they’d stayed. Could they have saved Winterfell? Would they be celebrating their victory now? Would the North have finally appreciated her willingness to help save them?

Fuck the damn North, she thought angrily. She would not waste her grief on them. What was she thinking?

Tyrion, her own Hand, had said that if anyone survived, they would have Jon Snow to thank. There was a good chance they’d be celebrating him, but not her. She was just the tyrant who forced their noble king to give up his crown to save them. 

Lying fucker, she thought. 

And now she was wondering if they would appreciate her? No. They could barely forgive her for existing. 

She looked at Jorah who was watching her sympathetically.

“You did what you had to, Your Grace,” he said.

Cersei glanced at him, then at Daenerys; then she started laughing. “You don’t feel badly about leaving now, do you?”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly, defiantly. “Not really.”

“You do,” Cersei insisted, with another peal of laughter. “Just when I was beginning to respect you. Well, not respect. But at least...”

“Your opinion of me is irrelevant,” Daenerys informed her coldly.

“Is it? And the North? Are they irrelevant too?”

“They are,” she confirmed. 

“If you sit there feeling guilty, I will vomit,” Cersei said. “I will vomit right here at this table while everyone eats.”

“Your brothers were there. How soulless are you, that...”

“My brothers were not there. Unlike your ridiculously ineffective Master of Whispers, Qyburn actually keeps me informed. My brothers went south with the children and that great beast of a woman who wants to fuck Jaime.”

Daenerys felt a strange and unexpected wave of relief. Tyrion was alive still. She was angry at him, but he had been her friend. She had hoped he would somehow survive.

“Did he tell you if...if anyone made it out of Winterfell?”

“The King in the North lives,” Melisandre told her. 

Daenerys looked into her wine glass, hoping her relief didn’t show, but she heard Cersei laughing again.

“Was it him who put a bastard in you?” Cersei asked. 

Daenerys glared at her. “Who put a bastard in you?” She shot back. “Or did you think I didn’t notice the swell in your own belly?”

“Oh, you don’t already know?” Cersei responded, unfazed. “Varys must be slipping more than I thought. I figured everyone knew about my brother and me.”

“Your brother? Jaime?”

“Are you really going to play self righteous about it? A Targaryen? Weren’t your parents siblings?”

“I wasn’t. I just...I didn’t know.”

“Your Master of Whispers is incompetent then.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to focus on idle gossip,” Daenerys said.

“Oh, and was it idle gossip when he didn’t warn you we were going to take Highgarden? Or about Euron Greyjoy’s fleet?”

Daenerys sighed. She really had no reason to defend Varys. “You’re right, he’s incompetent. But not because of his not telling me about you and your brother. I’d heard rumors. But really, it’s as you said, my own family has engaged in similar habits. I just didn’t know if it was true or just lies.”

“I fuck who I want and I don’t really care what self righteous hypocrites think about it.”

“Likewise,” Daenerys snapped.

The rest of the people at the table had fallen into an uncomfortable silence as the two pregnant queens argued; well, Yara didn’t look uncomfortable. She looked utterly intrigued, as if she were hoping it would continue.

Cersei noticed Yara’s expression. “Are you pregnant too?” She demanded.

“As fun as it would be to have a third pregnant queen at this table, no. That’s not possible.”

“The Dragon Queen said the same,” Cersei pointed out.

“If the last person I fucked got me pregnant, I’m pretty sure it would be a literal miracle,” Yara said.

“Oh? Did he have a broken cock?”

Yara drank her wine. “She. And she had no cock at all.”

Now the table was silent, and Daenerys’ mind wandered back to Jon. What was he doing now? How many men were left? Would he keep attempting to fight the Night King, or would he and his men make their way south? 

She commanded herself to stop thinking about him. The North and his family were his priorities. She had never been a priority to him.

It still hurt. But it didn’t matter; it couldn’t matter. Only destroying the dead and protecting their child mattered to her now.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northerners meet up again. Content Warning, lots of violence mentioned, more gruesome injuries, miscarriage mentioned.   
> This chapter and the next skips a few weeks because it’s a lot happening.

Ten

Moving across the North, proved harder than Jon had anticipated. Many of the people traveling with him were injured. What was worse, was that many of the injuries were festering now. It slowed them down. Jon couldn’t bring himself to leave them, so they were being carried or dragged.

Jon was miserable. His head was full of searing pain, and the hunger that threatened all of them was becoming deadly.

Arya had insisted they stop at some inn where her friend worked. A young man named Hot Pie.

“He’s my friend. We can’t leave him. You don’t all have to come with me. But I’m going.”

“Going to get your friend? Even though he’s not one of us?”

Arya sighed. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t try to befriend your queen. I’m sorry I didn’t try to talk to her. But my friend Hot Pie wasn’t going to try to rule us. He’ll die if I leave him there.”

Jon had no intention of leaving Arya’s friend there. He told his men they were stopping and they were eager to do so. Jon figured they were hoping for ale or food, but they had no coin.

When they reached the inn, it was almost empty, and the innkeeper appeared to be packing things, loading a cart.

The young man Jon assumed was Hot Pie came into the area where Jon and Arya stood, and grinned at her. “Arry!” The grin faded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. We are traveling south, you need to come with us. There’s an army of dead men who will kill everyone in their path.”

“Yeah, I know. I was scared you died at Winterfell.”

“You know?”

“Everyone knows. Daenerys Targaryen took Kings Landing. She and Cersei Lannister sent out ravens to everyone, and then Daenerys got the Citadel to send ravens too. Everyone’s been commanded to go to Kings Landing. They said that there’s a Night King who can raise the dead. Anyone who can fight is going to, and anyone who can’t will be sent to an island or something to hide.” 

Arya and Jon exchanged glances. 

“Daenerys took Kings Landing?” Jon finally managed. 

“Yeah, but she said she’s not keeping it. Once the Night King is defeated, she’s leaving Westeros.”

“I thought she wanted the throne,” Arya said. 

Hot Pie shrugged. “Not anymore, I guess. Do you want to ride with us?”

“I can’t. I’m with...“

“You can,” Jon said. 

“I’m not leaving you.”

Jon glanced at Hot Pie. “How many fighting men do you have with you?”

“Fighting men?” Hot Pie chuckled. “We don’t have fighting men. It’s just me and the innkeeper, some of the serving maids. But we don’t need fighting men. Who would attack us?”

Jon looked back at Arya, who sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”

Gendry decided to join them, and Jon realized they all knew each other. The innkeeper gave them some tough bread and hard cheese, and left a barrel of ale for them. Jon thanked him and sat with Davos and Tormund to plan the next move. 

“If these ravens went out to everyone, the Eyrie might be empty by the time our people get there,” Jon said.

“And if so, they won’t get the message. The Eyrie is said to be impregnable,” Davos offered.

“Aye, because of the terrain. Dead men don’t fear rough terrain. They don’t tire. The Eyrie can only hold a garrison of five hundred men.” He sighed. “We have to try to get there and tell the others.”

The trip was arduous. They had nothing to rob and were a large enough party to avoid attack by bandits, but they quickly learned that hunting parties were vulnerable. Three or four men would separate in the hopes of finding some small thing they could catch, using their swords or dragonglass, as none of them had bows or arrows now.

If they found no game, they came back with berries. If they found game, they didn’t return. 

By the time they made it to the Vale, their numbers had decreased further. Bandits, festered wounds, hunger. They’d burned the bodies.

Jon remembered Alliser Thorne telling him and Sam about how he and his party had gotten caught in the icy winter winds North of the Wall. How the horses had died first. Eating them had been easy...but it wasn’t easy when the men started to die.

Jon shuddered as they burned their dead. 

It won’t come to that, he thought. 

They reached the Vale only to find it empty, as they’d thought, and it took another few days to find the rest of the Northerners.

Sansa saw Jon first and ran to him, hugging him. Despite his anger, he held her. He was glad she’d survived thus far. 

Sandor Clegane saw him too, and marched up to them. “Where’s Arya?” He demanded.

“She separated with us to go with her friend. Everyone’s going south...”

“She’s alive.”

“Yes. She’s alive.”

Sandor turned abruptly and walked away; he’d heard all he needed.

Jon turned back to Sansa.

“The Eyrie was empty when we got there,” she told him. “We tried to get up the mountain, but too many of our people are tired or sick. Lord Royce went to see if they could send down horses, but nobody was there. No food, no horses. Nothing.”

More bad news followed immediately. They’d lost a few fighting men and a significant part of their food supplies, as the hill tribes had staged a night attack.

A few who had been sick at the onset of their journey had died.

Jon found Sam, who was pale and stricken. 

“Are you all right?”

“Gilly...” Sam began, his voice thick.

“Is she...?”

“She’s alive. But she’s not well. She lost the baby. It was all too much for her.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.” He held his friend as the man wept. 

Sansa fed the men from the stores, and Maester Wolkan tended the injured. They sat huddled by fires, trying not to give in to crushing despair.

Jon had seen the faces of his people when they saw him and his party. They had left eight thousand fighting men, and now they were under a thousand. 

Lord Glover had met up with Sansa’s party, and Jon had to make certain to stay away from him. 

He had refused to help them fight Ramsey Bolton, then had purposely left them to die because of Daenerys. Daenerys owed them nothing, but this was Glover’s own land, the North. He’d pledged himself to Jon.

And then he’d left.

If Jon got anywhere near the man, he knew he would likely beat the man to death.

He found out later that Glover had lost a leg and half his arm to festering wounds he’d received when his house was attacked by the Night King. Most of his men were wiped out, only about thirty remaining. 

Jon wasn’t happy to hear of the man’s misfortune, but he wasn’t particularly sorry about it either. He wondered what he was becoming. 

Jon looked around, taking stock. 

Brienne was alive, as were Jaime and Tyrion. Varys. Lyanna Mormont. Lord Royce. Sam and Gilly and little Sam. Many children, but they all looked hungry and exhausted.

Jon waited until they ate their meager rations, then stood up.

“We have to keep going south,” he told them. “We will not find any keeps occupied.” He took a deep breath, as if in warning. “Daenerys Targaryen has taken Kings Landing.” He waited, allowing them to digest the information. 

“She and Cersei have sent out letters to every house, every inn, every Keep. Queen Daenerys has asked the Citadel to do the same. These letters are warning everyone of the Night King and his army. Everyone is to report to Kings Landing. Anyone who can fight will do so. Anyone who can’t will be sent somewhere safe.”

He watched them, his eyes defiant. Would they refuse? Were they truly that prideful?  
He allowed his gaze to rest on Sam. He ached for his friend, but he looked at him as if challenging him to stand by what he’d said.

Daenerys shouldn’t be Queen, Sam had told him. 

Sam’s eyes held only grief, and Jon dropped his gaze. It was his fault more than Sam’s. If Jon had defended her...

He shut down the thought. 

“As you know, Queen Daenerys will not help us if we don’t want her help. But we need a plan for our children. You have tonight to decide.”

He sat back down. 

Tyrion walked over to him, sitting down beside him. “So she took Kings Landing.”

“Aye.”

“And she’s the queen now.”

“I don’t think so. I was told she said she’s leaving Westeros after the Night King is defeated. She and your sister both sent out the letters.”

Tyrion frowned, then started laughing to himself.

“What could possibly be funny?” Jon demanded. 

“We’ve offended her so severely that she’s working with my sister now.”

Jon felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

There was little to laugh at in the coming weeks. The people of the North had agreed to move south, though they still didn’t agree to accept Daenerys’ help directly, and Jon was infuriated. 

He found himself snapping at them, barely able to be civil. He’d reunited with Ghost, who had apparently survived the battle and found them, much to his relief and delight. The wolf was missing an ear, but was otherwise all right, and Jon was happier than he’d been in weeks.

He had trouble speaking to Sansa at all. She would approach him at various times to speak to him, sometimes on matters so trivial he began to wonder if she was just trying to get him to talk.

She sat beside him one night by his fire. 

“Jon, can I talk to you?”

“Aye. Talk.”

“You...you’re angry at me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Jon, I only wanted to protect the North.”

“Aye, and you’ve done a fine job of it, haven’t you?”

“Jon! What would you have had me do?”

“I don’t know, Sansa. Maybe think of the North, instead of yourself?”

“I was thinking of the North! You fell in love and surrendered your crown.”

“All you ever thought of was who had which titles. Who wore what crown. I told you it didn’t matter. You say you wanted to protect the North. Will you look at them? Look at our people, Sansa. What’s left of them. I wanted to protect them. I found an ally, a powerful ally. I persuaded her to come fight with us. She lost a dragon when she came to rescue me and my men. She’d have been a good queen. She came to save us. But you couldn’t bring yourself to even say thank you. You treated her like a burdensome visiting enemy, when she was the only thing standing between us and certain death.”

Sansa sighed. “I didn’t think she’d...”

“What? Leave? You thought everyone could treat her like garbage, and she’d just accept it?”

“She saw there were children. She just left us. I thought she might stay because she’d feel responsible.”

“Guilt is a rope that wears thin, Sansa. Especially since no one in the North called her queen except me. You all acted as if she owed you something. She doesn’t.”

He got up and walked away. He passed Bran, who glanced at him. 

“The Night King is almost to the Neck,” Bran said. “He’s sending raiders ahead. We could be attacked any day by his Walkers.”

Jon sighed. This just kept getting better and better, he thought angrily.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys solidifies some plans and deals with early challenges.

Eleven 

People were pouring into the city now, and Daenerys was angry at herself. She should not have burnt so much food on the Goldroad.   
She was angry at Cersei too, for hiring the Golden Company instead of purchasing food for her people.

She’d pointed this out to Cersei, who had laughed at her.

“As if feeding the people is more important than having an army.”

“A useless army that was destroyed in seven minutes,” Daenerys snapped.

“I expected better, but it’s not as if I can get my money back,” Cersei said dismissively, drinking from her goblet and smiling faintly.

“Isn’t that your third glass of wine? Your baby-“

“It’s wine,” Cersei interrupted. “I know you do things a little differently, shall I have a horse killed so you can eat it’s heart?”

Daenerys sighed impatiently. “We need to feed all these people.”

“Well, you wanted to be queen.”

Daenerys was irritated. She sent a message to Daario to see if they had anything to spare in Essos, explaining their situation.

She’d written to the crannogmen to warn them of her plan to fix the Neck with wildfire and to her relief, once they were aware of the situation, they’d offered to lay it for her. They knew the Neck better than anyone, and would know how to avoid the pitfalls. This took some time. She’d had her men stand far enough from the areas they’d set with wildfire to avoid being killed, but close enough so they could redirect people attempting to pass. 

Once the wildfire was lain, she urged the crannogmen to move south.

Qyburn had gone over the laborious process of moving it.

She sent her Dothraki to steal everything of value from Casterly Rock, and bring her the spoils so she could sell it for grain and dried meat.

“You can’t just rob my home,” Cersei thundered at her when she found out. 

“You’re right, I’ll ask Lady Olenna, she’s my ally, and she has all that wealth...oh, wait.”

“Some of those things are my mother’s,” Cersei told her.

Daenerys glared at her. “You may go and pick two things that belonged to her and keep them. As far as everything else, you can thank yourself for putting us into this position.”

“Why don’t you sell your own ancestors’ things?” Cersei demanded.

“I have my mother’s ring. That’s it. I don’t have anything else.”

“Is that a fact?” Cersei stormed out of the room, returning an hour later with the guards Daenerys had following her, holding large chests. “This! This all belongs to your family!”

Daenerys approached the chests, her eyes wide. She rifled through the chests, full of jewelry and papers, a few old coins. She moved the papers aside, and pushed the crates at the men. 

“We’ll sell all this too,” she told them, ignoring Cersei’s look of surprise, but then she froze as she saw a small gold coin fall to the floor. She picked it up, staring in wonder. The Targaryen sigil graced one side, and the other bore a face that looked so much like her own she had to sit down. 

“Your mother,” Cersei told her.

Daenerys looked up at her. “My mother?” She echoed.

“On the coin. That’s your mother. There were only a few of them ever made. She had ten pregnancies. But only two children survived. At the time. Before you. When your brother Viserys had his second name day, your father had these coins made. He was insanely paranoid, he thought giving people coins would encourage them to wish his children well.”

Daenerys slipped the coin into her pocket. “Sell the rest,” she told them. 

She began sending people who couldn’t fight to Islands, and arming those who could with dragonglass. Her spear throwing had gotten better, as had her archery. She wanted to learn some swordplay, but wouldn’t risk her baby. 

The project to line the Neck with wildfire was completed in a moon. Now she had to fly over the land and wait for the army of the dead.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon POV, more excessive violence, and Jon and Daenerys see each other, reuniting very briefly.

Twelve

It was a few days after Bran’s warning that it happened; they were attacked by the dead. 

The screams of those around him, especially the children, would haunt him to the end of his days. He was able to find the Walker who led them and plunged Longclaw into him, and the dead fell around them. 

He turned to see what was left of his people. They’d lost too many, maybe a tenth. 

He had to take stock again, see who had died, who had lived. 

Sansa was alive, but she’d been attacked, her face bleeding profusely. When he’d first seen her, seen the blood, he’d been terrified she’d lost an eye, but that was just how it looked, covered in too much blood. Once it was cleaned and stitched, her eyes sat blue and teary in her torn face.

“How bad is it?” She asked him, trembling.

“Not too bad,” he lied. “It looks...it looks a little like it will be similar to mine.” He indicated the scar he had, from above his eyebrow, across his cheek. She looked at his scar and then burst into sobs.

He held her, apologizing in his heart to Ned Stark for being unable to protect his daughter.

He stood before the remains of the North, after they’d burned their dead in the pyre, to tell them his plan; he explained that this was a thing the Night King would do, how he did it north of the Wall. He would send Walkers out with a contingent of dead men to attack the living and add to their ranks. 

The next time, he told them, they must form an outer circle of fighters and an inner circle of those who couldn’t fight, to protect their children and vulnerable people. They practiced it a few times, and he hoped that it wouldn’t have to be done for real.

Of course, that was an impossible hope, and it was barely a few days later when they were attacked again. 

They pushed the children into the inner circle, and fought. Jon found the Walker and killed him, but this time only a portion of the dead dropped, and Jon realized to his horror that there were three more Walkers. 

Fighting his way toward them, realizing they were swamped, he and his men pushed their backs against each other. 

He wondered, as he had so many times, if this would be the last fight. For him, for his people. This wasn’t even the dead army, this was only a squadron. How could he have ever thought...but through the biting wind and snow, the claws of the dead and the blood of the living, he would see a glimpse of Sansa, or of little Sam. Of Lyanna Mormont, or Davos. Of children, screaming and crying. Of Tormund.

These were his people, and he would fight. But exhaustion was setting in. He ignored it. Fatigue and pain and hunger and cold, had to be put aside. He was tired of fighting, but fighting was all he could do. He couldn’t see how many of their own had fallen. 

Screams of terror, screams of pain, the rattling shriek of the dead. The sounds of horror all around him, the smell of blood and death, filled his senses. 

Through the terrible din, he thought he heard the impossible. He wasn’t alone to hear it; the living were silenced as well, and then it came again, the unmistakable roar of a dragon. 

And then, over the circle of dead around them, fire rained from above, incinerating the dead. Everything went dark as the enormous winged shadow flew above them. 

Drogon turned, rolled out of the way as one of the Walkers’ icy spears slipped past him. Jon saw the tiny silver haired figure atop him, and almost smiled-then she hurled a shimmering black spear into one of the Walkers. As she threw another, taking out the second, Jon ran to the third and plunged Longclaw into him.

He stood, looking at his people. 

Gods, too few of them. 

Drogon landed thunderously nearby, and Jon turned, his heart pounding. 

And his little silver haired queen walked gracefully down his wing, looking around and surveying the damage.

Jon could barely breathe.

Her fluffy long white coat was gone, replaced by leather and chainmail, and the rippling sweep of silver waves that had poured down her back, was pulled into an intricate bun. The soft curling tendrils she’d let fall around her exquisite face were pulled back as well, into braids that then coiled into her bun. 

She stopped walking when she saw him.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him. Before he could answer, she went on. “If you have anyone else coming from North of the Neck, they must travel a different way. I expect the Night King to attempt to cross the Neck with his full army in a day or two. I know I said I wouldn’t force my help or protection on any of you. But in this I must insist. Please send a raven telling your people this. I have men there to guide people to ships that will take them wherever they’re going.”

“There’s no one else North of the Neck,” he told her. 

She nodded. “Good.”

“The Neck was almost frozen when we passed ” Davos told her. “It should be a sight safer to cross now than in summer when it’s full of quicksand.”

“It may seem that way, Ser Davos. But I’ve had it lined with wildfire.”

“Why?” asked Tyrion, who had approached them as well.

“Because the Night King is going to cross with most of his army. Once the majority of his forces are there, I will fly Drogon over them and burn them. This will ignite the wildfire. It won’t kill all of them, but it will take out much of his army and they’ll be more manageable as they move south.”

Jon wanted to say so many things to her. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking proud of you. He glanced at his people, and most of them looked as exhausted as Jon felt. 

He could see her violet eyes scanning them lightly, and he wondered what was going on in that silvery head. Was she satisfied that the man who’d spit when he saw her had lost an eye and a hand, that his face was ruined? That Sansa would bear a scar for life? Was she sad to see all the children, sick and hungry and exhausted and terrified? 

She turned to him then. Her face was unreadable. So beautiful and so devoid of emotion.

“Nobody is North of the Neck?” She asked again.

“No one alive.”

“Where are the rest of your people?”

Jon tried to emulate her, tried not to let the weight of grief drag his voice into weeping. 

“This is it.”

She stared at him for a moment. As if not quite comprehending.

“This is all that’s left of the North and beyond the Wall,” he clarified.

She turned away from him, sharply; turned from all of them, and walked a few feet. He watched her. She was breathing deeply, he could see it in her small shoulders. Even with her back to him, he could see by her movements that she was covering her mouth. 

When she turned back to him, her face was inscrutable again. 

“If you’ve changed your mind about accepting my assistance, there are ships in every harbor from here to Lannisport, Kings Landing, Storms End. They are taking anyone who can’t fight to safety and anyone who can, to Kings Landing,” she told him. 

“We heard you took the capitol,” Tyrion said. 

She turned to him. “Yes. With Drogon. It took about seventeen minutes and there were no civilian casualties.”

Tyrion nodded. His face held such sadness now. 

She turned back to Jon, and for a moment, a second really, her face was soft, almost affectionate; she was his Dany. But it was gone again the next second. 

“I must go. Be safe, Your Grace. My offer still stands. Any ship with Targaryen sails will take you to safety. If you’re willing to travel under Targaryen sails.”

She turned then and climbed back onto Drogon, and then she was gone.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys goes back to the Red Keep, and is devastated. Missandei and she have a conversation.

Thirteen

Daenerys was sick. She returned to the Red Keep, locked herself into her chambers, and heaved into her chamber pot. She was shaking violently.

What have I done? Gods, what was I thinking?

All those people. 

Jon had said that the people with him were the last of the North. 

I could have saved them, she thought. She knew it, down in her bones, she knew she could have saved them.

She heard Missandei calling to her. She dragged herself to the door to open it. 

“What happened?” Missandei asked, taking Daenerys’ arm and gently leading her to the bed. 

Daenerys told her. How she’d seen the Northerners. The diminished numbers, the expressions on their faces. The wounds that would be scars and ruin. 

Missandei listened, carefully removing her leather coat, her armor, stripping her to her shirt and then helping her into her nightgown. 

She started to take down her braids and bun, brushing her hair softly. 

Daenerys kicked off her boots, laying down. Missandei called for one of the guards, asking him to have some tea made for her, and rubbed her hands until they felt warm again.

“Daenerys, I know you feel badly. I understand. But they didn’t want you there. They didn’t want any of us there. Their king allowed them to believe a lie to make himself seem as if he were forced to bend the knee to you. As if you’d held his people’s safety hostage. He didn’t just allow them to believe it. He said it with his own words.

“Their Lady said we would deplete their stores. Their stores were already not enough. She was hoping to blame their scarcity on us being there. Planting seeds for a rebellion before you even had the throne. 

“They showed no concern for your well being when the man who killed your father, the brother of your enemy, showed up there.

“And then, they would talk openly about their plans for the war with the dead. They didn’t know any of the Unsullied spoke the common tongue. That they understood them. They hadn’t had a war council yet. But they talked about it. They were going to have mostly the Unsullied on the front lines. They were going to send the Dothraki straight out into the night, a cavalry charge as a first line of defense. The main objective is to get the Night King out in the open, right? They planned to use your men as human shields to protect their own.

“And they never once thanked you. Or your men. Think about your people, Daenerys. We love you and respect you. They hated you and the rest of us.”

Daenerys shuddered. “It’s just...so many of them...gone...”

Daenerys’ guard entered with her tea, and she thanked him, drinking it. Missandei was petting her hair. 

“They aren’t your responsibility. They made it clear they did not want to be your responsibility. Your own people are. How many of ours would have died?”

“Jon said there’s no ‘our people’ and ‘their people.’ He said we’re all on the same side.”

“With respect, Your Grace, he should have communicated this to his own people.”

Daenerys finished her tea. She knew Missandei was right, but it hurt. It hurt so much to see such a vast loss of life that could have been prevented. 

“Is there anything you know of that would prevent scars? Or erase them?”

“I know of things that help. That Qyburn might. Why?”

“Some of them...” she broke off. Sansa Stark, she thought. Rotten bitch that she was, Daenerys still could not quell the horror at the vicious wound across her face. Daenerys had noticed that Sansa would not even look at her. She’d just stared at the ground. “Some of them were injured. They’ll have scars.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. You need to rest. You’re the only one who can ride Drogon and set off the wildfire. You’re pregnant. You have to sleep, Daenerys. Think of your baby, not those Northerners.”

Daenerys allowed herself to drift into an uneasy sleep.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is trying to get past the horror of the situation with the North, she and Cersei have breakfast.
> 
> Your comments are so inspiring, thank you! I never expected to get so much wonderful support, and I’m very grateful! :-)

Fourteen

Daenerys woke with an aching head. She still felt sick over the North. She knew Missandei was right. The North hadn’t wanted her there. They had endangered her and would have continued to do so. Daenerys had not even realized the Northern plan to use her men as human shields. Still...too many had died.

She hoped they would take her assistance now. Get onto the ships and move south. 

Please, she thought. Please, Jon, you’re their king. Make them see reason.

She went to break her fast, but found she could barely eat. Missandei watched her in concern. 

Cersei was watching her as well, her catlike eyes following her movements. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cersei demanded. 

“Nothing,” Daenerys answered dully. 

“You’ve robbed my home, sold your own ancestral treasures along with mine, to feed people who, I promise you, will show you no more loyalty than they’ve shown me, you’re plotting to destroy my family’s home and you’ve gathered the entire realm here to fight this dead army. You’ve lined the Neck with wildfire. And you’ve said you’re leaving Westeros after this. I have every right to know if you’re falling apart, when you’ve endangered us all with your -“

“Endangered you?” Daenerys suddenly snapped, her eyes lighting in anger. “If I hadn’t -“

“There she is,” Cersei said in satisfaction. “Good. Now what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

Daenerys glared at her. “I saw the Northerners yesterday.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose that would put me off my breakfast.”

“There are barely more than three thousand left of them.”

“Are you going to get to the bad news?”

“You realize that every one of them who died, will be fighting us as dead soldiers when they get here.”

“You’ll likely be taking many of them out at the Neck,” Cersei said, buttering a roll. 

“If I had stayed there, this would probably be over and they’d have had more survivors.”

“Which would have been good for me, I suppose. Your armies would have had the most losses.”

“I took this city with Drogon. I’d have taken it in any event.”

“Well, feel free to wrestle with yourself over it. But when you sit there and refuse breakfast, and you’re planning to fly over an army of dead, when you know very well that if you do something stupid and this Night King kills you, he will have your dragon, I have every right to be concerned. You’ve garrisoned my -“

“Do you care about anyone other than yourself?” Daenerys demanded. 

“Why, yes. My child. As far as everyone else? No. Why should I?”

“Because you’re their queen. You’re their ruler. You owe it to them to -“

“I don’t owe anyone anything. I wasn’t born a queen. I had to marry a drunken whoremonger who had constant affairs right in the Keep. My brother got to learn how to use a sword, and I got to be sold as a brood mare. I don’t have to spend one minute of my energy on people who hate me and my family. If that’s your particular pleasure, I’ll leave you to it, but you’ve created a situation where risking yourself means risking me and everyone else, and I’ll not have it.”

Daenerys forced herself to eat, but the food tasted like paper and ashes in her mouth. “Innocent people died because I left.”

“Innocent people die every day. You left because they didn’t want you there, you said. I am angrier at the North for putting me in this position. Having to argue with you about -“

“You don’t have to argue with me. You can eat your breakfast and shut the fuck up.”

“As long as my life, my child’s life, is dependent on your idiotic self surviving, yes, I do. You offered your alliances them. They refused. That’s that.” 

Daenerys could feel those emerald eyes on her, and forced herself to eat more. “Okay?” She snapped.

“Do you know what “Guest Right” is?” Cersei went on.

Daenerys sighed in impatience. “I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“I am. It means that if you go to someone’s home and eat their food and sleep in their halls, they must not harm you.”

“They didn’t harm me. And they were quite angry about my eating their food.”

Cersei laughed. “Were they? Yet they pride themselves on their honor. Qyburn tells me they were going to use your men as ballast. I understand most of them were planning rebellion against you, and you hadn’t even won my throne yet.”

“Your throne,” Daenerys muttered.

“Your Missandei said that Sansa Stark was planning to blame you for the North not having food. As if winter and war and the Boltons destroying their glass gardens were not the deciding factor, but you, who went to save them. Do you know the kind of uprising that would have caused later?”

“You heard our conversation?”

Cersei laughed. “Of course not. Qyburn’s little birds heard you, and told me about it. The North plotted to harm you, to plant seeds of uprising, while you were a guest in their home. They deliberately planned to diminish your armies. They welcomed my brother Jaime instead of sending him back to me, knowing he was your enemy. They violated Guest Right. They refused your help. Now, if you’re stupid enough to come undone over them, that’s fine. When this is over, you can hang yourself over them, and I’ll not shed a single tear. But for now, my safety depends on yours, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow my innocent child to die over ungrateful and dishonorable hypocrites.”

“I suppose you would have done the same. Just left them.” Wonderful, she thought. On moral ground with Cersei Lannister.

Cersei laughed again, pouring wine. “Of course not. I never would have gone at all. I certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to lose a dragon saving any of them. I’d have taken the capitol immediately, and told the King in the North that he could do as the wildlings did, and move south. The Night King would still be at the other side of the Wall scratching his head, with no dragon, and you’d have had time to build a proper defense.”

“Or you would have promised to send men to help and instead shore up your own position.”

Cersei smiled. “Or that. Either way, I’d have three dragons instead of two, the Night King would be North of the Wall, and I certainly wouldn’t be crying into my breakfast over them.”

“I’m not crying,” Daenerys snapped. 

“Let me give you some advice, Stormborn, and you can do with it as you will. If people treat you like an enemy, believe them.”


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys blows up the Neck with wildfire, taking out a good chunk of the Night King’s army.  
> Stevepm68, thank you SO MUCH for this idea, I hope I did it some justice:-)

Fifteen

Daenerys had been advised by Melisandre that the Night King would be approaching the Neck that night. After breakfast, she pushed all thoughts of the North, of all those maimed and dead, out of her mind. She remembered long ago, asking Jorah why the gods would make kings and queens, if not to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But the North had made it clear that she was not their queen, and they didn’t want her protection. That they would prefer to protect themselves or die trying. That they would not protect her in return. 

If I look back, I am lost.

There were still many, all over Westeros, who she could protect. 

She could only do so from a position of strength. She could not weaken with grief over people who hated her.

She dressed in her armor, mounted Drogon, and headed North. Melisandre had assured her that she’d covered her in shadows. She hated to trust her after her experience with Mirri Maz Duur, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice. She flew high above, and waited. 

She could barely see in the swirling blizzard. She knew that meant the Night King was approaching, and she had to stay high so he wouldn’t see her. The obvious issue was that she couldn’t see him clearly either, and what was even worse than that, she might miss those spears. 

However, she had the benefit of hearing them. Far below, their rattling shrieks filled the icy air above howling winds. She waited. 

The majority of them had to be traversing over the area she’d lined with fire when she struck, or all their work would be wasted. 

Finally, she could hear their vile hissing, covering the Neck, and she urged Drogon to fly straight down, close enough to incinerate them, far enough to avoid the wildfire. 

Daenerys had no fear of fire under ordinary circumstances, fire was her love; but this was a fire born of chemicals, of alchemy; fire that burned green and remained lit on water. 

She could not be certain whether or not it would burn her, but she was absolutely certain that flying on her child over the Night King and his sea of dead, was not the time for experimentation. 

The icy wind screamed in her ears as Drogon sped straight down toward the writhing, seething mass of wights.

“Dracarys,” she growled, and Drogon unleashed a blaze over them, streaking across the Neck, flying back and forth, strafing the dead with fire; in seconds, great green flames erupted from the ground, sweeping over the Neck, immolating scores of dead. 

She had done this before, riding back and forth over enemies and dousing them in fire, but never so many, never this long. It was over an hour before they could stop, and the Neck below was a lurid green sea of flames. She could hear the roar of the inferno, the crackling, but the wind had died down a little, and the rattling, hissing screech of the dead had gone quiet. 

She urged Drogon higher, over the clouds again.

She could not be certain the Night King was dead and in fact she highly doubted it. She did not want to find herself or her son speared. 

She headed back to Kings Landing, exhausted. 

When she arrived at the Red Keep, she was ready to collapse into sleep. Missandei came into the room to help her undress.

“Tired,” she murmured.

“I know, Daenerys. But you don’t want to sleep in armor.”

“I don’t even care, to be completely honest.”

She drifted into sleep despite Missandei’s deft, gentle hands.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his people arrive at Gulltown, reunite with Arya. Second brief reunion with Dany and Jon. Unwelcome dead visitors on their way.

Sixteen

It was snowing hard when Jon and his party reached Gulltown. 

After Daenerys had ridden away on Drogon, Jon had turned to his people. They looked at him and they suddenly seemed to him like lost, broken children. 

“I think we should get to a harbor and sail south on her ships. Continuing on foot is suicide at this point,” he told them.

If they were angry, or resistant, it didn’t show. All he could see was fatigue and pain on their faces. 

So they’d started toward Gulltown, as it was the closest port. 

Jon himself was exhausted, anguished, but he could not let his people see that. He had to be strong for them. 

The port was livelier than they could have expected. After weeks of passing abandoned or empty keeps and houses, it was strange to see busy streets, an inn where singing and laughing could be heard. 

There were food stalls, and Jon saw that there were others like them - tattered refugees - lining up by the stalls and being given food. 

The women running the stalls looked familiar, and Jon realized they were Dothraki women. 

“Jon!” He heard Arya’s voice, and turned, running to her and hugging her tightly. 

“Did you find everyone?”

“I found them.”

“Bran and Sansa?”

“They’re alive. Theon Greyjoy and Lyanna Mormont, too. And Sandor Clegane.”

Arya had paled when she saw Sansa, but she’d kept her expression admirably still, not wanting to frighten her sister, embracing her tightly. 

Gendry and Davos embraced as well, and Jon could see Theon walking over to some of the men who stood nearby. They were Ironborn, Jon realized. 

Talking to some of the people already there, he found out that the Ironborn were indeed manning the ships. That every harbor south of the Neck was set up the same way, with food stalls and healers for people fleeing, and ships to bring them to safety or to Kings Landing. There were about five hundred or more fighting men at each port as well, and three ships at every port that never sailed. 

“Why?” Jon asked.

“In case the dead come while the other ships are ferrying people, and we need to make an escape. They’re emergency ships.”

Jon nodded. He walked around the camp. His people had gathered at the food stall with the children. Sam was trying to convince Gilly to eat something, but she shook her head and closed her eyes. She was sitting forlornly against the wall. A Dothraki woman approached her and gave her a blanket, wrapping her in it. 

Jon found out also that those running the operations at the ports would stage drills, that there was an emergency procedure. People were stationed at the towers, who would blow horns, and evacuation would begin immediately. 

Jon entered the inn and Bran was already inside. He’d reunited with his friend Meera Reed. Davos entered with Jon, and they sat down, listening to the animated discussions around them. 

Some of these people had seen the dead, escaping with their lives. Some had been saved, much as Jon and his people, by Daenerys and Drogon showing up and strafing the dead with fire. Others had never seen the dead, but received the ravens from Daenerys, Cersei and the Citadel and decided that if all three were in agreement, it was best to follow the orders.

Disagreements over the size of the army were peppering the conversation. Those who’d escaped squadrons argued that the army was not nearly as big as the letters had said, while others were pointing out that the full army might even be larger, now that they’ve been reaving across the Northern countryside. 

“The Night King’s Army is over a hundred thousand,” Jon told them wearily. 

“Likely more,” agreed another man who’d been arguing as well.

“Less,” Bran said tonelessly, looking at the fire crackling in the fireplace.

“Fewer,” Davos corrected.

“The letters from the queens and the Citadel said more,” the man insisted.

Jon was staring at Bran. 

“There were more,” Bran said. “Before last night. Well over a hundred thousand.”

“But not now?” Jon demanded.

“No. Not now.” 

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, moving from his chair to sit closer to him, looking at him questioningly. 

“They crossed the Neck last night,” Bran said. “Over half of them were incinerated by wildfire.” 

Jon digested this for a moment. “Over half?” He finally managed.

“Yes. Daenerys did what she told us she was going to. She flew Drogon over the Neck and ignited the wildfire.”

Jon sat in silence, as the one feeling he’d thought he’d lost forever - hope - washed over him. Arya walked over to them with Sansa, holding two mugs of ale and handing him one. 

“So how many are there now?” He asked Bran.

“In the neighborhood of forty thousand.”

Jaime and Brienne came to the table, along with Tyrion and Varys. 

“What is her plan now?” Tyrion asked.

“I don’t know,” Bran said. “She’s had a shadowbinder veil her movements so the Night King doesn’t see what she’s doing. I can’t see her either.”

“She took out over half the Night King’s army by herself,” Arya said, and Jon could see frank admiration in his sister’s face.

“It wasn’t by herself,” Sansa snapped. “The crannogmen laid the wildfire. She had Drogon.”

Arya didn’t answer, but Jon glared at Sansa.

“Why do you hate her so much?” He demanded. 

“She abandoned us to die! Look at what’s left of our people! This is her fault.”

“Her fault?” The rage Jon had kept bottled suddenly exploded. “All she did was come to save us, and all you did was complain. Your actions as the Lady of Winterfell set an example for how others would treat her. Are you happy? Do you feel proud that you and everyone else treated her like shit, just to defend our so called independence? Independence, when I told you all that our very survival required us all to depend on each other!”

The inn had gone silent now, watching. Sansa was glaring at him in rage, but her lower lip trembled, and he threw back the last of his ale and stormed outside. 

He was still enraged but he didn’t want to hurt her when she was already hurt. 

Sam was sitting brokenly next to Gilly, holding little Sam. 

Poor Sam, Jon thought. He had no idea what his private conversation with his friend and Nights Watch brother had cost him, cost Gilly, cost all of them. 

He heard then the roar of Drogon-a sound that could mean destruction or salvation, depending on which side one stood.

He flew over them, and Jon could easily tell which among these people had been the ones Daenerys had personally rescued; they cheered as they saw him, and when he landed, when the little armor and leather clad queen stepped down his wing, they cheered even louder, dropping to one knee as she passed them. 

It’s what we should have done, Jon thought. 

She favored them with a warm, if brief smile, and kept walking, her expression urgent. He watched her stride toward the Ironborn, her long leather jacket swinging around her, snapping at her legs. She said something to the men, and their faces grew grave.

“To the ships!” One of them called, stepping forward. “Gather your things and your people and go to the docks now! NOW!”

Jon watched as the people grabbed their possessions, their children, and formed a fast, orderly drill. 

The other men she’d spoken to had rushed to the towers, or to gather people, or to run to the docks.

He glanced at the port and could see rowboats, and two more ships approaching. 

Daenerys was approaching people, speaking to them, and then they’d run to others, helping the Dothraki women gather their things, or grabbing weapons, or helping to get people onto the lines that were fast moving but orderly.

The horns blew from the towers. 

Through the melee, Daenerys’ amethyst eyes met Jon’s. He smiled, it was involuntary. He looked at her chainmail, her sweeping coat, her intricate but tight bun with not a wisp of hair loose, her brusque movements; and remembered her, naked in his arms, her eyes dripping lust and love, her silvery hair in molten, silken waves falling over her small shoulders, across her beautiful flushed face. 

She walked toward him. “I’m glad you came, Your Grace. Please gather your people and property and get into the lines. We have only a little time.”

“Dany-“ he broke off as her eyes, already cold and impersonal, turned to ice. “I’m sorry. Your Grace. We just got here. It’s our first drill.”

She nodded, though her eyes didn’t soften. “I understand. The people here will help. You must hurry, Your Grace. I’ve been flying over to see how far the Night King and his army had traveled. He’s under a mile from here. This is not a drill.”

She turned and walked to where her soldiers stood, beside other men who were Westerosi and must have volunteered to help fight. Jon wanted to offer as well, but realized he had to gather his people. 

He told Tormund, who looked at him in horror.

“It’ll be Hardhome all over again,” he boomed, slapping Jon’s shoulder and rushing to gather his people.

Hardhome, Jon thought with a shudder, remembering all those lives lost. 

Galvanized into action, he ran to start getting his people onto the lines.


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany’s POV, fight with wights. She gets hurt but will be fine!

Seventeen 

Daenerys’ blood was rushing through her veins. Too many people here, and not enough time. 

She’d been exhausted, had slept later than she’d intended, and now innocent people would pay for it if they didn’t get on the ship in time. 

She saw Jon, gathering his people into lines, talking to his fighting men. He was beautiful. She didn’t want to think of that, but unbidden, the images of their time together on the ship to White Harbor filled her mind. That full mouth, and all the wonderful things he could do with it, his sculpted body, those raven dark curls she’d loved to run her fingers through...

Not the fucking time to think of that, she told herself sharply. 

She walked to Drogon, reached up and touched his hot scales with love, and appreciation. Then she mounted him and took off. 

She’d worked out plans with everyone at the ports, yet had hoped they’d never have to put the plans in action. 

They’d built wooden chevrons all along the outer edges of the port city, to make approach a little more difficult for the dead, and gave strict instructions not to touch them; then added a few jars of wildfire to each one. She could not ignite them until the dead approached, or all would be lost. They’d only been able to do this at a few ports, so she’d focused on those furthest North, since they would be hit by the dead first; most of the southern kingdoms had been evacuated already, and the Reach and Westerlands were expected to be completely cleared in the next fortnight. The Stormlands proved more difficult because of the squalls that had given them their name.

She waited, watched the people being loaded onto the docked ships, and to the rowboats that carried them to the anchored ships. 

She knew, without doubt, that Jon and likely the rest of his men, would fight for as long as they could alongside her men and the Westerosi who had joined her cause. It was funny, now it was her cause. But it was his, really. 

Jon and his men hadn’t been there for the drills and anxiety ate at her. 

The dead approached, running at the port town screaming. Dany flew out over them, sending swathes of fire over them, avoiding the maze of chevrons until they were thoroughly entangled in moving through them, then, once they were, she unleashed the fire over them. The chevrons exploded into green flames, obliterating the dead caught between them. 

Almost despite herself, Dany kept looking back into the mire of fighting bodies in the town to find Jon.

He fought with such skill, his lean body graceful but fierce. 

The Night King, from his safe distance - fucking coward, a true king would fight beside his men like Jon is doing, she thought - was readying a spear to throw at her and Drogon, the first missing them, the second piercing into her leg as Drogon dodged it. 

She sucked in air between her teeth as the pain set in

She grabbed one of her own spears, hurling it and shattering one of the Walkers. 

Not enough, she thought, pain fueling her rage. She threw another, then another. She wanted to hit the bastard, but his Walkers stepped in front of him; but she kept throwing spears. They threw a few back, one sliding past her arm and cutting the leather, another so close, too close to her head, brushing it. The pain screamed through her, and she kept hurling those spears, goaded by fury now, until they, the Night King and his remaining Walkers, retreated with his shrieking army back into the woods.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought, as the pain now took over her entire consciousness. She flew back to the town, and landed Drogon in its center, the chevrons still blazing green behind her, and she saw some of her men rushing to her. 

The town was mostly empty, to her relief, and any wights that had made it past her blazing chevrons were laying motionless, truly dead, and the men left were helping her into the inn. They assisted her to sit down, and began to cut into her breeches to remove the spear, handing her a mug of ale. 

Jon and Tormund entered, and Jon was at her side so quickly she barely saw him move across the room.

“Are you all right?” He asked, his dark eyes fixed on hers in panic.

“I’d be better without this damn spear in my leg,” she snapped.

Tormund stepped closer, and she glared at him, too angry about the pain in her leg and head to attempt politeness, particularly with any Northerner. 

“Dragon Queen,” he addressed her as if it were her name. 

“Giantsbane,” she responded through gritted teeth as hands moved over her injured leg, agony singing through her. 

“I’ve fought the dead for years. I’ve never once, in all those years, seen those fuckers retreat.”

“You never had dragons or chevrons fixed with wildfire,” she pointed out, wincing as someone pushed a cloth against her head to stop the bleeding from the spear that had brushed it.

“I’m going to pull it out now,” the man who had cut her breeches told her.

“Thank you. It’s fucking raping my leg.” The man swallowed a chuckle, then in one smooth movement, pulled it out. 

Blood poured from both sides of her leg, and dizziness clouded her brain. The edges of her vision turned black. Everything was blurry, and then she slipped into blackness.


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany talk and inevitably fight. They’ll have to be honest about their anger before they can work things out and they’re still really angry. So they’ll do a lot of fighting.

Eighteen

Jon watched Dany’s eyes roll back in her head, and then she was unconscious. He felt as if his blood had turned to ice.

“Dany,” he called to her, not caring if the fear in his voice could be heard by those around them. 

“We need to get out of here,” Tormund said. “When those green fires go out, that cold fucker will be back.”

The men in the room agreed, and after binding Dany’s leg, they began to lift her, but Jon pushed in to lift her himself, carrying her toward the row boats. Drogon roared at them, and as they boarded the rowboat, he followed above. 

Once they reached the ship, Captain Farwynd said that Dany would have his quarters, and Jon could hear him telling his men to change course; that the ship was going to go directly to Kings Landing and would bring the women and children to The Lonely Light once they saw the Queen safely to Kings Landing.

Jon would not leave her side, and as he sat on the bed watching her sleep, he remembered the day he’d bent the knee to her. 

He’d lain on a bed on a ship and woke to see her. Tyrion’s plan and his own foolishness had cost her a dragon. 

Her eyes fluttered open and she winced. She started to sit up.

“You should rest,” he told her. 

“Where’s Drogon?” She demanded, her eyes growing suddenly frightened.

“He’s flying over us. Worried about his mother.”

She relaxed, falling back onto the bed. “I have to get back to Kings Landing.”

“Captain Farwynd is bringing us there first.”

She sighed impatiently. “Drogon is faster.”

“You were unconscious. We weren’t about to leave you there.”

“Why are you here?”

“I boarded the ship to help with the fighting.”

“I mean why are you here in this room with me?”

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he said. 

She glared at him. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t sure about that. She was very pale, and the cut on the side of her head was surrounded by a dark bruise. He would never forget his bone-melting fear when she’d stepped down from Drogon with blood pouring from her head. 

“Dany, I’m sorry.” She turned away from him, staring at the wall. “I should have defended you.”

“It’s done.”

“I’m angry at you, you know. But I...“

Her lilac eyes swung back to him, incendiary with fury. “Angry at me?” 

“For leaving us to die.”

“I was supposed to offer myself and my armies as a sacrifice for the good of people who hate us. I see.”

“You said we would destroy the Night King together.”

“And you could have left with me.”

“I couldn’t leave my people.”

“And they couldn’t leave the North. But those were choices you made. I’m sure the free folk loved their home too, but they cared enough about their people to leave it. If yours couldn’t do the same, it’s their decision.”

“It was your decision to leave.”

“Yes. And if I were killed leaving, would that be your fault? Your people’s?”

“Dany...”

“Stop calling me that. I stood by and allowed a lot. I tried, I really did. But your people hated me. Your friend said I didn’t deserve to be queen and you said nothing. You told everyone you sacrificed your crown to save them. And then you said nothing when Jaime Lannister showed up. He murdered my father...”

“Your father...“

“I know my father was evil. But Jaime sat by for years and did nothing about it. He only did something when his family was threatened. Then when his father had my brother’s wife and children brutally murdered, he did nothing as well. He said right there in your hall that he did all the things he did to protect his house and his family, and would do it all again. Wouldn’t slitting my throat protect his family? You not only allowed him to stay, you never even came to me. To see how I felt.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. “But you didn’t have to leave.”

“Yes I did. I wasn’t safe there. But you didn’t have to stay. None of you did. You could have started moving south as I advised, as the free folk had. You chose to stay. You can be as angry as you like. But that changes nothing. Now if you’re finished trying to blame me for your people’s terrible choices, please leave.”

Jon wanted to say more. He should not have brought up his own anger, not now when she was hurt. He should have told her he loved her. That he admired her. He’d never been good with words. 

And what would it mean to her now, his love, his admiration, when he’d lost hers? 

He stood, searching his mind desperately for something to say. 

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Maybe not. But it didn’t matter enough for you to put any effort into avoiding it. Now please leave.”

“I just...”

She sat up again, swaying. “Do I have to leave?”

“No. No, I’m leaving.” He left the room, aching still.


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is annoyed at being stuck on a ship, finally meets Arya and Ghost, has a conversation with Sam.

Nineteen 

Daenerys did not have time for an injury. She had too much to do. 

She was angry all over again at Jon. She forced herself out of bed and started walking, first up and down the corridor outside her room, and then when she felt more steady, through the rest of the ship. 

To her frustration, many of the Northerners were on the ship as well. She knew some of her Unsullied were as well, and so were the Dothraki. It was a relief. She knew that if Jon blamed her, the Northerners must. And as much as she hurt for them, she was not willing to be murdered by them. 

She was also not willing to stay locked in her room, hiding from them. She was a queen. Even if she wasn’t their queen.

She walked along the deck of the ship, watching Drogon fly over the sea. She had always loved the sea. She had wondered as a girl, what it might be like to be a sailor.

Maybe after the Night King is defeated, she thought. She would leave Westeros and all its people who hated her. Let Jon and Cersei fight for the throne. 

She was irritated with herself, that the idea of leaving instead of taking the throne still upset her.

She wanted it. She wanted to rule the Seven Kingdoms. She wanted the throne her ancestor had forged. 

More, she wanted to be a good ruler. Kings Landing was a filthy, foul smelling city. The people of Westeros clung to hating anything ‘foreign’, yet the cities in Essos didn’t smell like an offal pile. 

Maybe Westeros needed some ‘foreign’ influence. 

People learn to love their chains, she reminded herself. How much more so, when they don’t even know the chains are there? 

I wanted to break the wheel, but if it’s the wheel they want, let them keep it.

She turned around the bend of the ship and saw the Stark sisters. 

Well, Sansa, anyway. She was fairly sure the girl with her was Arya. She resembled Jon, but of course Jon hadn’t deigned to introduce them.

She stood for a moment, still leaning against the railing, to let them pass. Sansa flashed a look of pure hatred at her, before lowering her eyes and turning away. 

Daenerys raised her chin defiantly. She felt sorry for Sansa, but she was not going to allow herself to feel responsible. Sansa had made choices for herself and her people that had brought disaster. 

Arya, however, was studying her in open curiosity. 

“My brother Bran said about ten or fifteen thousand of the dead army died in that last attack at Gulltown,” she said. 

“Good,” Daenerys said. “I wish it were more.”

“I’m Arya Stark,” she said, earning a glare from her sister. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Daenerys responded tersely. 

Arya smiled then. “I figured. Bran said you wiped out over half the Night King’s army. By yourself.”

“I was with Drogon. And the crannogmen laid out the wildfire. It wasn’t really by myself.”

This made Arya’s smile widen a little, and Sansa gave Arya a triumphant look that made Daenerys wonder if they had discussed this already. 

“We should go,” Sansa told Arya. 

Arya sighed. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

They walked on, and Daenerys walked in the opposite direction. 

She would see other Northerners on the ship, who would glare at her or look at the floor as she passed them.

But many of the refugees were enthusiastic to see her, grateful to her for what she was doing.

She also noted that some of the people on the ship didn’t like each other, and would argue bitterly about whatever past injuries they’d inflicted on each other. So much for unity, she thought.

She saw Jon one day as she walked, leaning against the railing as she herself had done, an enormous white wolf with one ear sitting beside him.

She stopped, wondering if she could turn around and walk back the way she came without his noticing, but the wolf turned to her, then stood up and loped over to her, nuzzling her belly.

Does he feel Jon’s child in me? She wondered. Jon turned to her as well, smiling faintly as he watched her hesitantly reach to pet Ghost’s fluffy white fur. 

“You’re a good boy,” she told Ghost, and he licked her fingers. 

“He likes you,” Jon said.

“At least someone from the North does.”

“I like you,” he said, and she laughed at that despite herself. 

She didn’t want to be lured into feeling safe with him. She had loved him more than was healthy, and had been all too willing to sacrifice everything for him. She had trusted him utterly, and had been clearly wrong to do so. She could not allow herself to be the lovesick fool. 

Sam was approaching Jon, but froze when he saw her. She could feel his hatred for her coming off him in waves, shimmering in his eyes. 

She stood for a moment, torn about what to do next. She didn’t want to show weakness by running away; but Sam looked so beaten, so broken and devastated, she thought perhaps the better thing was to turn away and let him have his talk with Jon, without her standing there. 

She opened her mouth to speak, when Sam suddenly stepped toward her.

“I suppose you’re proud of yourself,” he cried. 

“Sam,” Jon hissed at him. 

“Excuse me?” She demanded.

“You decided to leave the North to die. Have you seen what happened?”

Daenerys swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. “I have,” she said. 

“Was it worth it? To make a point?”

Daenerys studied him. “I know you’re suffering. So I’m willing to let that rest. But if what you want is to engage me, I’ll engage, and I’ll have to be honest. You’re not a child. I don’t wish to hurt you more than you’ve been hurt already.”

“I don’t think you can hurt me more than I’ve been hurt already.”

She sighed. “All right then. Let’s engage. I’m taking it from your tone that you believe what happened was my fault. Why don’t you elaborate on that?”

“You left us.”

“Yes. I left. It’s what the North wanted.”

“They didn’t want to die!”

“Then they should have moved south.”

“You don’t even care that your actions caused -“

“Whether or not I care is irrelevant. None of our feelings are relevant in this.”

“You left because of your feelings. And now people are dead.”

“I did not leave because of my feelings. I left because of clear and present danger. To myself and to the people I brought here, who depend on me to lead them and keep them safe.” She turned to Jon. “Tell him your battle plan.”

Jon looked at her, then turned to Sam. He explained that his goal was to draw the Night King out. That he’d planned to send the Dothraki out into the night as a first line of defense.

“And they were never given dragonglass weapons,” Daenerys added. “Even though I provided the dragonglass for the North, my men were not given the benefit of weapons that would be effective; You spoke of unity, yet the Dothraki were seen as expendable.” She looked back at Jon. “Continue, please.”

Jon went on, explaining where the people would be stationed.

“Note that the Unsullied would be IN FRONT OF the trenches,” Daenerys pointed out. “It’s all pretty words to speak of fighting as a unified people. But words are wind. His actions would have used my men as human shields, as ballast, as if their lives had no value, to protect the lives of Northerners whose lives he clearly felt were more important. Add to that, you and Sansa Stark were plotting against me. My enemy was allowed to stay at Winterfell. I have no obligation to fight for people who consider my life and the life of my men to be worthless.”

“I wasn’t plotting against you,” Sam said.

“No? When you said I shouldn’t be queen? When you said Jon had spared men? Did you think I spared no one that day on the Goldroad? Your father refused to bend the knee, he refused the Wall, and he was an oathbreaker. They slaughtered men, women and children at Highgarden.”

“You offered him to go to the Wall?” Sam asked, his voice suddenly small. 

“Tyrion mentioned it, and your father said I couldn’t send him there because I wasn’t his queen.” 

“I didn’t know - “

“You didn’t. You decided to plot against me without having all the information. And one thing you should keep in mind. The Night King had over a hundred thousand before he crossed the Wall. How did that happen?”

“He was killing wildlings.”

“Exactly. They were trying to move south. But there was a Wall. A heavily manned Wall. It’s not as if I built a Wall to leave you to face the dead, and it’s not as if I had my men guarding It. You could have moved south any time. But they couldn’t. Imagine if I told you that every wildling in the dead army, who died after you found out about the army of the dead, was your fault. Because you left them to die. And worse than what I did, because you actively prevented them from moving south.”

“Jon allowed them to move south.”

“After fighting them for years. Yet you expected me to risk my own life and the lives of people who look to me to protect them. For enemies. 

“And yes, Sam. You are an enemy. You said I shouldn’t be queen. Knowing nothing about me. Because you were angry about my executing your father, when any Lord in Westeros would have done the same. You said Jon gave up his crown to save his people, and that was a lie. You said I wouldn’t do the same. Yet there I was, ready to fight for you. 

“You urged Jon to challenge me for the Iron Throne. If he can wrest it from Cersei, it’s his. I am going to help destroy the Night King, and his army, and then I’m leaving Westeros.

The only people responsible for your current situation is yourselves. Maybe next time someone comes to save your life, you’ll treat them like an ally instead of an enemy.”

She waited for him to respond, but he only stood looking at her, and he looked for a moment as if he might cry. 

“You heard what I said to Jon,” he finally said.

“Yes. You and I had just spoken, and I was looking for him. I misunderstood our relationship and thought we were...friends. I trusted him. I suppose we all make mistakes. And I heard the whole thing. I heard your viciousness against me and his lack of defense. Yet bizarrely, I stayed. Jaime Lannister being allowed to stay without any attempt at ensuring my safety was the final straw. Cersei fucking Lannister had to explain to me what Guest Right is. You should look into it. It might save you from being dishonorable hypocrites in the future. Now if neither of you has anything else to say, I have matters to attend to that are far more urgent than explaining myself to enemies.”

She turned and walked away from them.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany gets ready to disembark from the ship, Jon talks to her before she does

Twenty 

Daenerys had gone over plans with the ship’s crew, and some of the soldiers. She had spent too long on this ship. 

It wasn’t even that it was packed with Northerners who looked at her fearfully now, or worse, even more hatefully than before. She had no doubt that they would murder her if they had a chance.

It was that she needed to be making further plans, checking the progress of the wildfire being made and loaded onto Casterly Rock.

Once they approached a port, she asked Captain Farwynd to allow her to disembark there.

She stood waiting for a rowboat to lower for her, and she saw Jon. He wasn’t looking at her, so she allowed herself to watch him. He was talking to Ser Davos, and then he started laughing. She wondered what they were talking about. She hadn’t seen him laugh nearly enough.

He glanced at her, saw the boat being lowered, and started toward her.

Damn it, she thought, looking away.

“Your Grace,” he said. 

“Your Grace,” she responded, her eyes on the rowboat now, away from him.

“You’re leaving?”

“I need to get back to Kings Landing.”

“You’re still hurt.”

She shrugged. “It will pass. I can’t exactly ask the Night King to withhold hostilities until my leg heals.”

“Please be careful,” he said, and the concern in his voice rubbed her heart raw.

“As if you care,” she snapped.

He sighed, and started to walk away. Then, he turned back, walking up to her and standing far too close, close enough so she could smell that snow and leather scent she’d once craved. 

“What are you - “

“I care,” he ground out, catching her shoulders. “I love you.” 

“Love me? You didn’t even - “

“I know! I know, I didn’t defend you, I didn’t stand up for you, I didn’t tell my men why I bent the knee to you. Gods, Dany, I know I fucked up. But my brother Robb fell in love with a woman and married her, and it cost his life, and the lives of his men. If I’d told them why, they’d have known I loved you, and they would have thought that was why I bent the knee. If I stood up for you against them, they’d have thought I wasn’t looking out for their interests. I never expected them to act the way they did. I should have said something. I know that.”

“Is that why you didn’t defend me when Sam said I shouldn’t be queen?”

“I was in fucking shock when Sam said that. He’d just turned my entire life upside down. I found out my father, the most honorable man I ever knew, had lied, and wasn’t my father. I found out my real father was your brother. It was a lot to fucking take in, Dany, and right before the end of the damn world. Yes, I should have defended you. I was a fucking coward with my people and an idiot with Sam.”

“Yes. You were. And Jaime Lannister - “

“Aye, I should have realized you wouldn’t feel safe. But for fuck sake, It’s bloody hard to imagine you being afraid of anything. If he’d harmed a hair on your head I’d have cut his fucking heart out. I thought you knew that.”

“How could I know that?” She shot back.

“I’m sorry, Dany. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them why I bent the knee to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them to fuck off when they treated you like garbage. I was just fucking getting used to them not treating me like garbage. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel welcome in my home. I’m sorry I didn’t tell Lannister right then and there that he had best not harm you.

“Now I’ve lost you, I’ve lost most of my men, I’ve lost my home, because I was fucking stupid. But whatever happens, I need you to know this. I love you. I didn’t even know how much, and every time I thought I did, you’d do some other amazing thing and it would hit me again. 

“But that day in Gulltown, when you climbed off Drogon with a spear sticking out of you and your head bleeding, I lost my mind. When you passed out I realized that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. 

“I’ve put myself, my desires, my everything, I’ve put it all last, for so long, that I put you last, too. I’m sorry. I can’t change the past. Gods, I wish I could. But either of us could die in this. You say we’re enemies, because of my stupidity or because of that damn throne I don’t even want. Fine. We’re enemies. But I love you.” 

He cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“Please, Dany,” He murmured against her. “Be careful.”

He walked away and she watched him, shivering a little as the icy wind whipped around her.


	21. Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has a scare. CW mention of miscarriage but it doesn’t actually happen

Twenty One

Daenerys was exhausted when she arrived at Kings Landing. 

Missandei rushed to her, embracing her tightly. “I was afraid we lost you,” she murmured.

Daenerys smiled warmly at her. “Not yet.”

Jorah looked relieved as well, and he caught her shoulders, almost leaning into her. 

She went over the plans, the progress, and the reports. Most of the women, children, sick and elderly of Westeros had been evacuated now, and the majority of soldiers were gathered at Kings Landing. Those who weren’t, could be expected within a fortnight. 

She would not allow herself to think about Jon. His declaration had opened all the wounds inside her, and she wanted to believe him. But what did words mean? 

Nothing, if action didn’t follow.

Still...some part of her did believe him. It was dangerous, she knew, but those fierce eyes on hers, his gruff Northern burr...she shook her head. Now was not the time.

She finished her discussions and went to bed.

When she woke, the sky was stained red and pink.

Her stomach was cramping, and she felt the cold whisper of panic. Running into the privy, she saw small drops of blood, and she thought she could actually feel her heart breaking. She made her way out of her room, but she didn't want to wake her healers so early, instead going to the council chambers and pouring herself some wine. 

She should never have allowed herself to hope. She wept, drinking the golden wine and sitting down on a large chair, curling her knees so they rested against her chest. 

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Cersei’s voice suddenly cut across the room as she entered, pouring herself some wine and sitting down. “Now you’re feeling guilty about killing the dead.”

Daenerys wiped impatiently at her eyes. “Leave me alone,” she said. 

This was her fault. She’d pushed herself too hard. She’d allowed herself to be injured. This tiny precious life had depended on her and she’d failed.

She wondered what the child would have looked like. Whether it would have been a boy or a girl. Would they have her amethyst eyes, or their father’s dragonglass eyes? Her own silver tresses or Jon’s luxurious black curls? 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Cersei demanded.

“No. Leave me alone,” she repeated. She tried to breathe deeply, to hide the sobs threatening to rack her body.

Cersei smirked. “You sound like a child,” she said.

“Fuck off.”

“Such a queenly disposition.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, you’re in my house. Drinking my wine. If the reports are correct, you’ve wiped out over half the dead army. A dead army heading straight for us. Too much is riding on you not turning mad like your father.”

“I’m not turning mad.”

Cersei laughed. “Mad people don’t know they’re mad.” She sipped her wine. 

Daenerys sighed, looking out the window, trying to hold in the tears, the desperate desire to weep.

She drank the last of her wine, and poured more into her glass. 

“It’s funny how you were just lecturing me about drinking wine while pregnant, and yet, here you are - “

Daenerys turned and thew her glass in Cersei’s direction. “Leave me alone!” She repeated. 

Cersei raised one eyebrow. “Hm. All right. Hurling glasses now. I feel better, why, you’re not mad at all. You don’t scare me, Stormborn, my son was Joffrey Baratheon.”

“I lost it,” Daenerys said, her voice breaking. “I lost the baby.” She buried her face into her knees, unable to keep the sobs from tearing out of her now. 

She heard movement, and she glanced up to see Cersei pouring more wine. She walked over to Daenerys and handed her the glass. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and to Daenerys’ shock, she sounded genuine. “This happened on the ship?”

“No. Here. Tonight.”

“Oh.” Cersei frowned. “Tonight?”

Daenerys nodded miserably. “I saw little drops of blood and realized...”

“Little drops? That’s it?”

“I mean from...from...”

“I know where from, Stormborn, I’m not a shivering virgin. But that’s not a miscarriage. Not this far along. It’s a lot more blood.”

Daenerys stared at her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. It happened to me, when I was pregnant with Myrcella. And I was terrified. I thought I lost her. But I can assure you, a miscarriage is much more bloody and messy than a few drops.”

Daenerys wiped her tears. “You’re sure.”

“I am. But if this happens again, I advise you to talk to a healer or maester instead of sitting in a dark room drinking wine and crying like a mad thing.”

Daenerys started laughing then, her heart suddenly light. 

“Thank you.”

Cersei took Daenerys’ wine glass. “I suppose you aren’t going to drink this.”

“You shouldn’t, either.”

“All my children drank copious amounts of wine while I was pregnant. Lannisters thrive on wine, surely spending so much time with my brother showed you that.”

“He didn’t drink so much when we got to Dragonstone.”

“Well, that explains why he suddenly became so terrible you had to fire him.”

Daenerys laughed again, and now Cersei was laughing as well. 

“He became a terrible Hand because he loves you,” Daenerys said seriously, when their laughter died down.

“I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s true. He couldn’t plan properly because he didn’t want to hurt you. Or your brother Jaime.”

“And you did want to hurt us.”

“I wanted the throne.”

“And now you don’t.”

“I do, but it’s not worth it. Everyone hates me.”

Cersei smirked at her. “Everyone hates you? You aren’t going to take throne because everyone hates you?” She shook her head. “Now of course, I’m not going to argue. Your sudden change of heart certainly benefits me. But that has to be the stupidest reasoning I’ve ever heard. Why would that matter?”

“I’m not going to force people to follow me.”

Cersei laughed again. “All right. That’s good for me, I guess. Especially now your going to burn my ancestral home.”

“I have to. It’s the only-“

“Yes, you’ve explained this.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Cersei stood. 

“I’m going to go back to bed. Tomorrow will bring its own troubles, I’m sure.”

“Good night.” Daenerys sat for a few more minutes, watching the sky grow lighter as the sun gleamed on Blackwater Bay.


	22. Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks to Sam, then he and his people arrive at The Lonely Light, where he addresses them.

Twenty Two

Jon felt as if the ship was empty once Daenerys left it, but it was really him - he felt empty. He had watched her on the rowboat, watched her get out and walk to shore, then watched her mount Drogon and disappear into the sky.

Ghost padded over to him, sitting down and emitting a soft whine.

“I miss her too, boy.” He ruffled Ghost’s fur and stood at the railing long after Daenerys had flown away. 

Sam walked over to him. “She left?”

“Aye, she left.” 

“I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t know she was listening to us.”

“I didn’t either. But I should have defended her. Sansa asked me if I bent the knee to save the North or because I love her. And the thing is, I do love her. And she would have saved the North. But neither of those is really why I bent the knee to her.”

“Why did you?”

“Because she allowed us to mine the dragonglass before I bent the knee, and before she believed me about the army of the dead. Because Tyrion told me she could have sailed for Westeros long ago, but she stayed to support her people in Meereen. To make sure they weren’t enslaved again. Because I remembered everything Maester Aemon told us about her. Because she risked her own life to rescue us, and lost a dragon doing it. She cares about people, Sam. She’d have been the best ruler Westeros has seen in generations.”

Sam’s lip trembled. “I was angry. She didn’t tell me that my father and brother were offered the option of going to the Wall.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s done. We all fucked up. Me most of all.”

The rest of the trip was somber. Sansa had finally found a mirror, and fell into despair. Jon wanted to comfort her, but there was not much he could say. She would certainly not find any reprieve in him waxing about inner beauty, and he’d never been good with words anyway. 

And he was angry at her. He hurt for her, but she had brought this on as much as he had. What was she thinking, to alienate their most valuable ally? She said she wanted to protect the North, yet her actions had helped destroy it. She had spoken to him once about Cersei, and Jon had pointed out that it sounded as if she admired her. Jon knew that Cersei and Littefinger had both influenced his sister. He could even accept that. But would either of them have intentionally and blatantly disrespected a needed ally? An ally who was the one thing standing between themselves and annihilation. She’d told him he had to be smart. Had that been smart? Arya had said Sansa was the smartest person she’d ever met.

He’d spent his entire life wanting to belong, and he’d felt as if his family, and the North, were all standing against him and Daenerys. Trying to pull them apart. And he’d chosen the North. Had chosen his family, the family who’d been ready to turn on him.

And it had cost all of them. He and his people had acted without honor. Daenerys was right: by Sansa planting seeds for rebellion, blaming Dany for food shortages that existed before she’d set foot on Westeros; by Sam openly speaking treason; by himself misrepresenting why he had bent the knee and by extension, why Daenerys had come to their aid; by his refusing to demand some declaration by Jaime to ensure Daenerys’ safety, instead allowing him freedom to roam his castle; they had violated Guest Right; they had not directly harmed her, but they’d put her in harm’s way.

Some believed the gods would punish anyone who did that. Jon wasn’t sure whether the gods truly intervened in such a case, but they certainly had been punished. 

He’d spent years on a crusade, to destroy the Night King, to gather Free Folk and Northerners, to unify against the dead.

He’d known it might not be enough. He’d told the Free Folk, “At least we’ll give the fuckers a fight.”

And they’d been obliterated in a single night because they’d turned away an ally who could have saved them, because they’d refused to move south, because of their small minds, their pride, their desire for independence in a war that demanded interdependence. 

He listened to the Captain telling him of the progress. 

They finally docked at The Lonely Light. The ships were unloading all the people who couldn’t fight. 

The North was gathered together again, from the ships they’d been loaded onto, and he stood before them to speak.

“I’m going onto one of the ships to Kings Landing, to report to Queen Daenerys, to fight the dead,” he told them. “I know you’re angry at her for leaving the North. But you were angry at her for coming North to save us, too. It’s as if she could do nothing right where you’re concerned. You hate her for her father’s crimes. 

“You’ve seen her, now. Seen her plans, seen how she organized the rescues, seen how she ran drills and created safe places for refugees, and arranged ships to bring them to secure havens. 

“Sam and I, and the whole Night’s Watch, tried for years to get the Seven Kingdoms together, unified, to fight the dead. We failed. She managed it in a moon.

“The Free Folk and the Nights Watch have fought the Night King for years. We only ever added to his army, and none of us ever saw them retreat. Queen Daenerys has destroyed over half his army in a fortnight, and sent the fuckers running at Gulltown.”

“She has the advantage of dragons,” Sansa pointed out.

“Aye, she has the advantage of dragons. And we could have had that advantage on our side at Winterfell. She came North to save us,” Jon went on. “But all of you made it clear you didn’t want her there. I told you all, that if we didn’t band together, we would die. It’s funny, because Ser Davos told Queen Daenerys the same thing. She agreed to fight beside us, but you, who called me your king, refused. 

“You wanted Independence. This is a war that will not allow that. We must all depend on each other. Everyone, together. We had ten thousand men. Now we have under three thousand. This is the last of us, save our women, children and elderly, who only live by the grace of Queen Daenerys’ mercy. Will we be men and women, will we be warriors? Or will we be cowardly children, ungrateful and dishonorable?”

Lord Glover stood awkwardly on his remaining leg. “I will not join forces with a foreign whore,” he spat. 

Jon walked toward him, drew back, and punched him in the face with such force that he and the chair behind him fell to the floor.

Glover glared at him, his mouth oozing blood, and Jon walked back to where he had stood.

“None of you have to fight,” he told the now staring crowd. “If you want to be a cowardly minge like Glover, you are free to do so. But you will not disrespect her, and you will not, under any circumstances, call her a whore. The next man who does so will meet my sword instead of my fist. So what are you going to do?”

Lady Lyanna Mormont stood. “We crowned you our king. Then we disrespected you and the allies you brought to save the North. We were wrong to do so. We chose you, and we resented being forced to accept a ruler we didn’t choose. But we never should have disrespected you. We should have trusted you as our king, or as our warden, to protect us. We must fight this enemy and defeat him, if we are ever to rebuild the North. I’m with you, Your Grace.”

Jon nodded at her gratefully. Slowly the other men pledged themselves as well. 

They walked toward the ship that would take them to Kings Landing. Above them, the huge sails unfurled, the Targaryen sigil blazing across them. Her sigil. Our sigil, he thought. 

He was eager to see her again. He had won her love once, and had lost it, had lost himself. He would find himself again, and he hoped he might win her love back. He knew he might not succeed, but if he did, he would never again allow himself to take that love for granted. He would cherish it and protect it, and her, until the end of his days.


	23. Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany finds out the soldiers from all Seven Kingdoms are on their way, she and Cersei discuss the throne.

Twenty Three

Daenerys had received the report that the last soldiers from Westeros had set sail and would be reporting to Kings Landing. The North among them. Daenerys was surprised by that, but the more soldiers they had, the better off they’d be. 

She would have war councils almost every day, and the was information pouring in from the Citadel. The Night King would not die from fire. They weren’t sure about dragonfire or wildfire, but they’d tried burning him once to no avail. 

Daenerys didn’t think that mid-battle would be the time to be uncertain; they needed a plan for killing the Night King. Supposedly they needed some fancy sword, but that was so couched in legend that she wasn’t going to put too much weight into that, either. 

She decided to get some air, then turned toward the throne room. She wanted to look at it again. 

She stood before the throne. She felt as if it were a friend and an enemy, a family member who demanded far too much of her but was still a favorite. 

“You don’t want it? Truly?” Cersei’s voice came from behind her.

She glanced back as Cersei approached. 

“I do, actually. But I’m not going to take it.”

“I shouldn’t ask,” Cersei said. “It’s dangerous to ask. You’re younger than I am. And I suppose some people would consider you more beautiful...in some cultures.” 

Daenerys looked at her, laughing. “What are you talking about?”

“If you want it, why aren’t you taking it? You can’t be serious about the people hating you.”

“I am.”

“Ridiculous. You’ve only ever met the North.”

“I met Ellaria Sand and Lady Olenna, too,” Daenerys pointed out.

“Ellaria Sand was a murdering bitch.”

Daenerys nodded. “Lord Tyrion told me. I’m sorry.”

“She was a snake. But Lady Olenna. Did she hate you?”

“She barely knew me.”

“Yara Greyjoy certainly doesn’t hate you. The Ironborn are loyal to you.”

“I promised I would uphold their independence.”

“And how do you intend to enforce that if you don’t take the throne?”

“I will ally with her and bring all my strength to bear against anyone who tries to take it from them.”

“Independence it is,” Cersei said lightly, smirking.

“I know most of Westeros would prefer a king to a queen,” she said.

“I just threw up a little in my mouth. Please tell me that’s not a factor.”

“It’s a factor because I don’t want to be assassinated, I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder thinking someone will turn against me. I don’t want to have to prove myself again and again, and no matter what I do I’ll never measure up because I’m not a male heir.” 

“There is no male Targaryen heir.”

Daenerys sighed. It could be dangerous to Jon to tell Cersei what she’d overheard. 

“Being a ruler isn’t just ruling over them. They rule over you, too.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Cersei said dismissively.

“The kind of queen I want to be will belong to the people as much as they belong to me. If I belong to people who hate me, what am I?” She shook her head. “Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor. A dragon is no slave. I’m not going to yoke myself to people who hate me.”

Cersei shrugged. “If you’re going to care so much about the unwashed masses, I suppose that’s your only choice.”

Daenerys looked at her severely. “You don’t care about the people?”

“Not at all. And I don’t see why I must.”

“You’re Protector of the Realm. You’re the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They look to you to ensure their safety and well being.”

Cersei laughed again. “You’re not so young, to be so foolishly idealistic. They look to me to see to it they get bread, and they riot if they don’t get it. That’s it.”

Daenerys shook her head. “That’s not the kind of queen I want to be.”

“So what will you do after the Great War?”

“I haven’t decided yet. All I’ve been thinking about for so long, was the throne. But...what I really wanted back was a house I lived in when I was a little girl. It had a red door, and there was a lemon tree outside my window. Maybe I’ll just find someplace that reminds me of it...of home. Raise my baby there. Make sure he or she gets a real childhood. The childhood I never really had.”

Cersei nodded. “I worry about my child. Like you, everyone hates me. I need to be powerful, because it’s the only way I can protect my baby.” 

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully. It was her fear, too. If she settled in somewhere, would she and her child ever truly be safe?

She would have to tell Jon about their child. Whatever had happened between them, he had the right to know.


	24. Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War Council. I had kind of made an obstacle for myself. My girlfriend said that because I mentioned the Citadel looking for how they defeated the Night King the first time AND Dany complained about Sam not asking Bran, that I have to put in how they did it.   
> I’m like, wut? Because the show never explained it and I don’t remember the books getting there yet. They didnt even have a Night King the last time, if I remember. I mean it’s been awhile but...  
> She said if you have a gun in the first act it’s gotta go off by the final act. So I need to make something up.   
> And...I’m not a writer. So, Nostalgia to the rescue! I decided to use something I saw in a video game. An old video game called Super Paper Mario. Kinda a little like Count Bleck’s storyline. Yeah, I’m weird af.  
> I hope you like it! :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so now I need y’all’s opinion. I realize that GRRM said that art is not a democracy, and you don’t get to vote on how it ends. And he’s right. Absolutely. 
> 
> BUT this is NOT art, it’s a rage fic and I’m legit torn over this.
> 
> Who should kill the Night King?
> 
> Arya, because she did it on the show and I must admit I loved it?
> 
> Jon, because he’s been fighting the Night King forever and it seems like a proper climax?
> 
> Dany, because hologram Bran can be in a place full of fire and Dany (show Dany anyway) is immune to fire? 
> 
> I don’t know. I love it for Arya because she’s awesome (pre-season 8 anyway) I love it for Jon bc he’s been fighting them and I love it for Dany bc I spent this whole fic on her and it’s a Dany wank fic after all.
> 
> Please tell me what you think, I’m having way too much indecision on this! 😂

Twenty Four

The soldiers from all Seven Kingdoms had arrived. 

Daenerys had gathered their leaders together for a war council. She was tense. Even aside from seeing Jon, who she loved despite herself, there was Cersei and her undisguised rage at her brother Jaime, who was at the war council as well, with Ser Brienne. Jon had brought Bran, Daenerys had no idea why. Tyrion had insisted on joining them. Jon’s sister Arya had come as well. 

“Why are you here?” Cersei demanded, as soon as Jaime entered.

“I’m here to help,” he told her. “It’s us against the dead. I gave my word - “

“Your word,” she spat. “And what of your word to me? To our child? I suppose that was meaningless.”

“You and our child will die if we don’t defeat this Night King.”

“And yet you left us to die. What if Stormborn here hadn’t come to Kings Landing? What if she went back to Essos with all her friends and her giant lizards? I would have died here with our child, and you would not have given a single fuck.”

“I didn’t go back to Essos with my friends and my giant lizards, so let’s try to make a plan, and then I promise, once we destroy the Night King, the two of you can scream at each other for the next ten years,” Daenerys said. 

“The Night King will try to kill me,” Bran said. “He’s tried it with many other three eyed ravens.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re here instead of somewhere safe,” Daenerys told him. “Especially if the Night King wants you.”

“He’d have followed me. I have his mark.” He showed a silvery Hand print on his arm. “He always knows where I am.”

“How did you survive him marking you?” Daenerys asked, wondering if maybe Bran had some secret fighting ability she’d missed. 

“I wasn’t really there.”

“Can you clarify that?” 

Bran explained that he could move around in space, that he could be somewhere, where he really wasn’t. That only greenseers could see him.

Daenerys frowned. This could be very useful.

“Is there any way you can maintain that? Do it for an extended period of time?” 

“I could. Why?”

“If he’ll come for you...but you’re not really there...”

“He always knows where I am,” Bran repeated.

“But would he know if your physical self was somewhere else, bound in shadows, but your...greenseeing self...was at a chosen place?”

“I’m not sure,” Bran said, frowning.

“It’s worth trying. We need enough people at Casterly Rock to draw the army there.”

“Casterly Rock?” Tyrion interrupted. “Why Casterly Rock?”

“She’s going to blow it up,” Cersei said. 

“Yes. I’m going to blow it up. We’re going to seal off every exit except the sewer. I’ve had people extend the sewer tunnel further, so that the soldiers will have to swim once they get there. The wights can’t swim. The castle itself is virtually impregnable.”

“Unlike us,” Cersei said, sipping her wine. 

Daenerys sighed, ignoring the sharp look Jon gave her. 

“As the wights approach, we will have enough warm bodies to draw them in. Those warm bodies will be mounting a defense from the walls. Pitch, arrows, dragonfire, everything we have. But we have to be careful. I’ll go over the maps. No fire or pitch can land in the majority of the castle.”

“Why not?” Tyrion asked her. “It’s a strong castle. It’s never fallen.”

“I’ve lined the entire castle with wildfire. Our people have to be out before I rain fire on it. We should be able to take out most of his army that way.”

“Is that how he was defeated the first time? Fire?” Samwell Tarly asked timidly.

“No,” Daenerys said. “Not according to the Citadel. In fact, fire can’t kill him. Maybe wildfire or dragon fire can, but we don’t know that and can’t depend on it. What happened the last time, they said, was that his wife was defeated.”

“His wife?” Sam echoed.

“He was a man once, the Night King. The Children of the Forest made him a monster to fight the First Men. He made his wife a Walker like himself. She started killing the Children of the Forest. She was angry at what they’d done. They both killed thousands of First Men as well. They killed his wife, and it took out her entire army. He was defeated by grief. Now he wants revenge. He wants the world of men utterly destroyed.”

“Yes,” Bran said softly. “And I’m it’s memory. That’s why he’ll expose himself to get to me.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Cersei talk about men, love, strategy and...that’s about it.

Twenty Five

“Was it absolutely necessary for him to bring my brother and his whore here?” Cersei stormed, pacing the council chambers. 

Daenerys was still sitting at the table, the drawing of Casterly Rock that Tyrion had sketched next to the one she’d been working from, scattered in front of her. She pressed her hands to her temples as Cersei ranted. 

She could hardly blame the woman. If Daenerys’ lover showed up, brother or no brother, with his new paramour, she would be angry too. 

“They are going to fight in the final battle, I think,” she said. 

“So they all had to be here? At the council? Did they contribute anything useful? No! Jaime always was the stupidest Lannister, and he just had to provide an extra demonstration, in case I’d forgotten. Look, Cersei, here’s the ox I’ve been fucking.”

“Tyrion gave him a run for that title once we got to Dragonstone,” Daenerys said.

“And what about that useless pudding Sam Tarly? Why was he here?”

Daenerys sighed. “I think he wants to fight too.”

“There are a lot of people going to fight, Stormborn, but they didn’t all have the need to crowd into the war council like horny sailors on half off day at the brothel.”

“King Jon wanted them there.”

“King Jon is a fool. If he wasn’t, this war could have been finished moons ago. I cannot imagine why he needed to bring his pack of jackasses to the council. Does he know you’re carrying his child?”

“No,” Daenerys said. “Or he didn’t. He may have started to suspect, after that comment of yours.”

Something like regret crossed Cersei’s features, and she sat, picking up her goblet. “Is there a reason you haven’t told him?”

“The North is the most important thing in the world to him. His family. I’m not really that important to him at all. I didn’t want to - “

“He said that to you? That you’re not important to him? If they gave out awards for foolery, he might just beat out both my brothers. Of course Jaime might still win, since he showed up in my house with that - “

“He didn’t say that to me. It was his actions.”

“And you don’t love him.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Daenerys said softly.

“So you do love him? And you don’t want him to know you’re pregnant because...?”

“Because I’m not staying here in Westeros. Because he’ll try to make me stay. Or he’ll agree to leave with me and marry me out of duty.”

“Well, of course he will. Those Starks and their ridiculous honor. He’d marry you and follow you to your house in Essos with your red door and lemon tree. And you could have his pretty face and a passel of brats with more honor than sense, and...what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to marry me out of duty.”

“Seven hells, Stormborn, why not?”

“Because it would be like...trapping him.”

“You don’t even know what your cunt is for, do you?”

“I don’t want him to marry me out of obligation. I’ve married out of obligation, twice. I’m not doing it again. And I don’t want to make him do it, either. If we were to be together, I want it to be out of love.”

“Sometimes you do something, and you strike me as so smart, so clever...and then you do something else. And I’m right back to thinking you’re a fool. Do you know what I told Jon’s little dove of a sister?”

“I didn’t think Jon had a little dove of a sister.”

“Sansa.”

Daenerys started laughing then. “You call her little dove?”

“I did. When she was here. Such a sweet scared little thing.”

“Well, the little dove is a bird of prey now. What did you tell her?”

“I told her that love is poison. A sweet poison, but it will kill you all the same.”

Daenerys thought about that. “You’ve a valid point,” she said sadly. “I loved him and would have done anything for him. I’d have sacrificed everything for him. I allowed his North to think I bullied him into bending the knee at first, even though it wasn’t true. I’m ashamed to say, I’d have gone along with the truly terrible battle plans. I would have been willing to die for him.”

“I see. In that case, you’re right not to tell him.”

“Am I?” She stared at the map, unseeing. “I feel like he has a right to know. But I don’t want to give him such ownership of my life. Not after what happened. And then what if he marries me out of duty, and I lose the babe?” She shook her head. “We’d both be miserable.”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of finding someone who actually loves you. Not that my advice on love is worth anything, apparently. I loved Jaime. He abandoned me, he abandoned our child.”

They both sat in silence. 

“We should really be thinking about the war with the dead, instead of our pathetic situation with our children’s fathers,” Daenerys finally said. 

“And what’s your plan? Other than the destruction of my ancestral home?”

“If the Night King wants Bran, and he can make himself appear to be there, he can be used as bait while still being safe. We’ll destroy his army with wildfire, but we have to destroy him, the Night King himself.”

“And so you lure him to Casterly Rock, blow it sky high...you don’t think that will do the trick?”

“I don’t know. If fire doesn’t kill him...it may not. Someone has to get in there and kill him.”

“And how do you intend on managing that while you’re burning it down?”

Daenerys glared at her maps. “I wish I was better with a sword.”

“Being better with a sword wouldn’t prevent you from being burned alive.”

“I wouldn’t. But I’d no doubt be killed by the Night King. Jon is phenomenal with a sword. He’s so graceful, he makes it look effortless. He - “

“Spare me your wet thoughts, Stormborn. Stick to the plan.”

Daenerys flushed. “I wonder if he could ride one of my dragons...if he killed the Night King he could - “

“My understanding is that only people with Valyrian blood can ride dragons. Although he’s ridden you, so maybe - “

“Not helping,” Daenerys told her. She started pacing thoughtfully. “We could lure the army of the dead in...they attack everything in their path. Then have Bran at another location...”

She grew quiet. What she needed was a strategist. No one on the Northern council. Their plans had been atrocious. And she couldn’t trust Tyrion anymore, which still hurt her. 

“If only Stannis Baratheon were here...”

“If Stannis Baratheon were here he would murder both of us,” Cersei pointed out. 

Daenerys laughed. “Probably. But he was an excellent strategist.”

“Which is why it’s good he’s not here.”

Daenerys dropped her head into her hands. She had to figure out a way to draw the Night King to a place where he might be killed, while protecting the person killing him from the wildfire.


	26. Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany...um...talk...fair warning, smut starts about halfway through and is the first part of the next chapter.  
> In no better at writing smut than I am at anything else, worse maybe, so any constructive criticism is extremely welcome!   
> :-)

Twenty Six

Jon could not stop thinking about what Cersei Lannister had said in the war council.

He should be thinking about the war with the dead. He had thought of little else for years. But the casual reference to pregnancy, the look that passed over Daenerys’ face, had burned into his mind and now there was no thinking of anything else. He had to speak with her.

He found her walking through the hall and approached her, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. 

“Dany-Your Grace, I mean.”

She smirked at him. “Yes?”

“I have to speak to you.”

“Go on.”

“I mean...privately.”

“Why?”

“It’s a private matter.”

She sighed, and walked with him into Cersei’s solar. 

“What is it?”

“Are you pregnant?”

Her violet eyes suddenly lit with anger. “Is that your business?”

“Aye, I think it is.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? How can you say a thing like that?”

“I mean it doesn’t matter...to you.”

“If it didn’t matter to me, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m leaving after this. After the war with the Night King. I’m leaving Westeros. You and Cersei can fight for the throne. I’m done.”

“Dany - “

“If you could stop calling me that - “

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First - “

“Daenerys works just fine.”

“Daenerys. I love you.”

“This again? Jon - “

“Do you love me?”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“Do you?”

“I do. But - “

“My father...uncle...Lord Stark used to say that everything that comes before the ‘but’ is horseshit.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m leaving after this,” she repeated. 

“Then I’ll leave with you.”

“You can’t leave with me, Aegon Targaryen,” she said, emphasizing his name. “You’re the King in the North and the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“I don’t want the damn Iron Throne.”

“Then let Cersei keep it. You’re still the King in the North.”

“That’s not important. Not as important as this.”

“As what?”

“As...as being the father of your child. Our child.”

“And if I lose it?” She demanded. He saw in her eyes a terrible fear. “That Asshai’i witch told me -“

“Fuck her! If you lose it we’ll try again. And again, as long as you’re willing.”

“And if I never have a child?”

“Then it will just be us. You and me. Dany, I love you. You love me. I was a fool. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dany. I should have told them the truth.”

“Yes. You should have.”

He stepped closer to her. Her eyes shimmered as he did. “Do you love me?”

“I told you - “

“Say it,” he commanded, his hands going to her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I love you,” she said softly. 

He took her mouth with his, and he felt her body curve against his. She kissed him back, with a sudden fervor. Their hands scrambled to tear at each other’s clothes, filled with hunger.

He pulled back, and took a step away from her. Her eyes were wide, dark with shock and anger as he walked toward the door. 

He slid the latch, locking it.

“I didn’t think we should be interrupted,” he explained, grinning at her.

She smiled, licking her lush lips as he walked back to her, pulling her into his arms.

“You’re so wise, Your Grace.”

They tore at each other’s clothes in a frenzy, and he marveled that her creamy, soft skin, her small but full breasts, could harden his cock immediately, as if it were the first time seeing her luxuriously curved body. 

She was looking at him hungrily, and their eyes scanned the room for a place they might fall into each other.


	27. Twenty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of this chapter is continuation of smut from last chapter. :-)

Twenty Seven 

Gods, his body was like art. She could barely tear her eyes away from him, but they both searched wildly, settling on the desk, throwing maps and papers to the floor. 

His arms were around her again, his mouth trailing her skin and setting fire to her blood. 

“You’re so beautiful. Gods. You’re...” his voice trailed off as her mouth took his, and she nibbled at his full mouth. Oh, how she remembered what he could do with that tongue, but now she wanted his hard cock inside her. 

He pressed his sculpted form against her, and as he entered her tight sex, wet for him and waiting, she moaned in desire. 

He began to thrust, his callused hands gripping the tender flesh of her shoulders, her cries of unbearable pleasure met with his, growling and fierce. 

One of his hands was on her breast now, running his finders over the delicate skin, flicking deliciously over her nipple, and her own hands traveled his body, one against his sculpted chest, the other pressing against his waist to push him further inside her. 

The pleasure mounted, driving her into a frenzy of ecstasy, and they both came together, breathless and sweating. 

They sat down on a rug on the floor, spent.

She leaned against him, and his arms wrapped around her. He kissed her temple. 

“So it’s Essos after this?” Jon asked, his voice soft.

She sighed. “I’m in too good a mood to argue, Jon. But your people...they’re in bad shape. You know they are. They’ll need you, their king, now more than ever. Whatever you feel right now, you know you can’t leave them.”

“I could. For you, for our child.”

“No, Jon. You can’t.”

“So what’s your plan then? Take my child - “

“Our child.”

“ - and leave? So I’ll never know him or her?”

“You will. We’ll figure something out. But the North needs you. And when this is over, I’ll be happy to never lay eyes on them again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. As soon as you told them you bent the knee to save the North I should have confronted you. When I heard you and Sam talking I should have come in and said something. When Jaime Lannister showed up, I should have - “

“No. You said you thought he might slit your throat. I ignored your concerns and I was wrong. You should never have had to confront me about what I said to the North. I should have been honest from the first.”

“We’ll talk about it when this is all over.”

After an hour of enjoying the peace of Jon’s arms, they both began to dress, and Daenerys returned all the papers to the desk.

Once she was confident that they both looked composed, she opened the door and returned to the council chambers. 

Cersei was sitting at the table, and she smirked when Daenerys entered. 

“Feeling more relaxed now?” She asked.

“Pardon?”

“If you’re going to try to pretend you and Jon Snow were discussing military strategy, you probably should have chosen a more private location than the study. Or gagged yourselves. I’m fairly sure half the city heard you fucking.”

Daenerys flushed. “I didn’t realize anyone could hear us.”

Cersei laughed. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, it’s too late now. But of course the look on everyone’s faces was divinely entertaining.”

Daenerys dropped her head into her hands, making Cersei laugh again. 

“You’re carrying a child, Stormborn, and I’m fairly sure everyone knows how it happened. Your problem is you care too much what people think.”

“I don’t care what people think,” Daenerys shot back, lifting her head to glare at Cersei.

“Yes, you do. You’ve been building toward taking the throne for how long? And now you’re not going to take it because the people don’t like you. Hang the people.”

“I can’t understand why you keep trying to talk me into taking the throne when you clearly want to keep it yourself.”

“I do. I enjoy power. Power is the only thing that keeps us safe. You think the love of the people will keep you safe. But it isn’t love that protects you. It’s fear.”

“Your brother Tyrion said your power is brittle because fear is all you have.”

“Did he? And who has had the power in Westeros all these years, and who had to become a kinslaying exile? If I remember right, I was trouncing you the entire time he’s been your Hand here in Westeros, and you only took power by ridding yourself of him, and seizing it with your dragons, which you should have done as soon as you arrived.”

Daenerys sighed. “Can’t really argue that.”

She pulled the maps closer, and went over again in her head what their next move with the Night King would be.


	28. Twenty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei receives upsetting news, a conversation happens.

Twenty Eight 

Daenerys woke to the sound of crashing, and jumped out of bed, grabbing her robe and hurrying toward the sound, half asleep, her guards and Missandei following her. 

The noise was coming from the queen’s chambers. Daenerys started to rush in, but her guards lightly held her back while they entered first. 

They had expected to find assassins, but instead it was only Cersei, throwing things around the room, smashing them, and Melisandre who stood with Qyburn, out of the way of Cersei’s rage.

“What are you doing?” Daenerys demanded. “We thought you were being murdered in here!”

Cersei glared at her. “If you thought I was being murdered, and you came running into the room, you are stupider than I thought,” she growled at her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she snapped. 

Daenerys glanced at Qyburn and Melisandre. “Is there news?”

“Not about anything that concerns you,” Cersei said. She turned then to Qyburn and Melisandre. “You will keep this to yourselves or I will personally cut out your tongues.”

Daenerys stared at her. “Is it the baby? Did something happen?” Her voice was soft now. 

“No. Nothing happened to the baby. Everyone get out. Now.”

The room cleared except for Daenerys and the guards, who retreated to the door.

“I can see something happened,” Daenerys said gently. “Is it Ser Jaime?”

“My fool of a brother is fine as far as I know. If you’re not going to leave, at least stop annoying me with stupid questions.”

“All right,” Daenerys said, sitting down and pouring Cersei a glass of wine, sliding it across the table toward her. 

Cersei sat down, taking the wine and drinking it. 

“I am the oldest child of Lord Tywin Lannister,” Cersei said. “When you’re done with your Night King, I’ll expect you to rebuild Casterly Rock. My child should have her ancestral home, and as it’s destruction will be your responsibility, so will it’s repair.”

“I won’t be here. But I will find a way to secure coin to send to you,” Daenerys said. “So that you may restore it to its former glory. Is that acceptable?”

“All the lords and ladies will have to come here after the war,” Cersei said, drinking her wine. Her emerald eyes looked fevered, and Daenerys could see rage and grief in them. “While they are here, I will demand their fealty and I will abolish the ridiculous law that males should inherit even when the first born is a girl.”

“I can’t argue with that. The chances are good the lords won’t like it, but - “

“Of course they won’t like it! They’ve enjoyed their right to consider themselves better than us by virtue of their cock.”

Daenerys stifled a laugh. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And then of course the lords have been able to make a choice by merit, but only by disowning their eldest. Lord Tarly, for example, disinherited his eldest and sent him to the Wall.”

“Did he? It’s funny, he sent his eldest son to the Wall, yet chose to be burned to death rather than go to the Wall with his younger son.”

“Of course he did. That’s the hypocrisy of the lords of Westeros. I expect them to attempt naming Jaime and his children the heirs to Casterly Rock. I won’t have it. My daughter will have her birthright.”

“It seems to me your daughter would inherit the Iron Throne,” Daenerys pointed out. She’d noted that Cersei seemed certain her child would be a girl. She didn’t question it. She herself had known Rhaego was a son.

“Perhaps. But it’s as you said, she would have to fear, every minute, of being assassinated. Maybe she won’t want it. Maybe she’ll want peace.”

Daenerys nodded. Her desire for the throne was as strong as it had ever been, but it had certainly never brought her peace.

“I understand,” she said softly. 

“And you won’t harm her.”

“Harm her?” Daenerys was offended and tried not to show it. “I don’t harm children. When I took Astapor, I specifically ordered to harm no child. When I got my Unsullied I wanted the boys too, so they wouldn’t have to live in slavery.”

“My information was that you crucified hundreds of Meereenese nobles.”

“I crucified one hundred and sixty three Meereenese nobles. None of them were children. And it was because they crucified one hundred and sixty three children. I don’t harm children.”

Cersei nodded. “But what of the children of your enemies?”

“If they’re grown and attack me, then I’ll fight back.”

“If they’re grown and attack you, they are not only the children of your enemies, they are themselves your enemies,” Cersei pointed out.

“I will never harm your daughter unless she were to grow to attack me. I trust you’ll advise her against that.”

Cersei was quiet, drinking her wine and studying some point on the horizon outside, and Daenerys wondered if she was seeing anything at all. She appeared deep in thought. 

“What of your Jon Snow? Would he harm her?”

“Jon doesn’t harm children either,” Daenerys said fiercely. She remembered him telling her that he’d hung a boy once. But the boy had put a knife in him. She recalled something else he’d told her. “The Umbers and Karstarks betrayed the Starks,” she told Cersei. “The last Lord and Lady of their house were children. Sansa Stark wanted to take their ancestral home from them. Jon wouldn’t do it. He will not harm a child for the sins of his or her parents.”

“Good.”

“Why are you asking me this? You can’t really think either of us would harm your daughter... is this something Melisandre told you? That we would harm her?”

“No. She and Qyburn...told me something. Not that. I want you to promise me you will see do Casterly Rock’s reconstruction. To see to my daughter’s birthright. That no one takes it from her.”

“I won’t be here.”

“You told Lady Yara you would support her kingdom’s independence.”

“Lady Yara supported my claim to the Iron Throne.”

“How could I support that, when it was my own throne? Have I not helped you in this war?”

Daenerys sighed. “I’ll support your daughter’s claim to Casterly Rock. I don’t think my support will mean anything, but I’ll also supply any aid, should her claim be threatened. Including military aid.”

“Thank you. You know, I’ve never harmed a child either. Except when I was a child myself.”

Daenerys looked at her skeptically. “I was under the impression you had Robert Baratheon’s bastards murdered.”

“That was Joffrey. Not me. And it was Jaime who pushed Bran Stark out the window. I was quite angry with him about it.”

“What about the Sept?”

Cersei smirked. “Those were casualties of war.”

“You weren’t in a war with the Tyrells.”

Cersei laughed. “Oh, but I was. The game of thrones is always a war. I’m not trying to justify myself to you. I know the way you see the world is quite different from how I see it. We will never agree on some things. 

“And in some ways, you may be right. There are a lot of people who think that if I had dragons I’d have burned half of Westeros already. But that’s not quite true. If I had dragons, I wouldn’t have to. There are many things I’ve done, that I would not have had to, if I had the kind of power you do. 

“I’m not particularly sorry for the things I’ve done. They were to protect my children. Lady Olenna murdered my son Joffrey. Before I’d done any harm to her family. It was the Tyrells who came to us, asking for the marriage. It’s not as if Margaery was forced to marry him. They came to us, asked for the marriage alliance, then murdered my son. I thought sure my brother Tyrion had done it. I accused him, and he was found guilty.

“He escaped his prison, and murdered my father. My father was my family’s protector. Because of that, we were left vulnerable. It was Tyrion who sent my daughter Myrcella to Dorne, he who called for the trial by combat that killed Oberyn Martell. He who killed our protector. Myrcella’s death lies squarely on his shoulders. He thinks he’s so clever. But all his clever plans did was destroy us,” Cersei’s voice had grown increasingly angry.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said. 

Cersei turned to her. “You will ensure my daughter keeps her birthright,” she repeated.

“I will.”

“In the world of true lions, it’s the lioness that does most the hunting. Not the lion. Lions protect the family. The pride. But lionesses are faster. They’re better hunters.” She sighed. “I don’t know about dragons.”

Daenerys laughed. “I don’t know either. All I know of dragons, I learned from my children. They hunt together.”

“You’ve never read all the dragon lore? My brother Tyrion was obsessed with it when we were children.”

“I never received a formal education. My brother told me things, but he...didn’t really know anything.”

Cersei nodded, laughing. “I understand that. How will you protect your children, if you leave here and live out your years in your house with the red door and lemon tree?”

“I’ll still have my dragons.”

“True,” Cersei said. “I suppose they can keep you safer than a throne would.”

She grew quiet, and Daenerys studied her.

“You won’t tell me what Melisandre and Qyburn told you?”

“I’ll tell you. But not today. It wasn’t about you.”

“What was it about?”

“Me. It had nothing to do with you at all.”

“Will it affect the war with the dead?”

“No. It won’t affect you at all, really.” 

“You were very upset,” Daenerys observed.

“I’m still very upset. Jaime left us. You understand that, don’t you? If he took my child to raise with his whore, what do you think they would tell my daughter about me?”

“You don’t think he’d take your daughter from you.”

“Not from me. But if something were to happen to me.”

Daenerys felt a pull of anxiety. “Do you expect something to happen to you?”

Cersei smirked at her, pouring more wine into her glass. “It’s always best to have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Jon’s POV, he will tell Sansa and Arya about his parentage and they will all make final plans about the war with the dead.


	29. Twenty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tells his sisters of his parentage and Dany’s pregnancy. 
> 
> I hope you all have a Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and if not, have a wonderful Holiday season!

Twenty Nine

Jon was cautiously optimistic. 

He thought for the first time since Daenerys had left Winterfell that there might be a chance to beat the Night King. 

He sat with Sansa, Arya and Bran, watching snow falling outside the Red Keep. They would be evacuating soon, to fill up Casterly Rock with soldiers, and to move the last of the people who wouldn’t be fighting to Dragonstone. 

Sansa had insisted on joining Jon, Bran and Arya on the trip to Kings Landing. Jon could not be sure whether it was to stay close to her family, as she’d stated, or if she felt responsible for what had happened to their people and didn’t want to face them. 

Jon was still angry at her, angry at the North. But overwhelming the anger was a pitying compassion that hurt when he thought too much about it.

They’d lost so many. Too many. Fighting men were maimed for life. Even women and children had died or been scarred. If they beat the Night King, and made it back to the North, they would be left with so many widows, so many orphans. The stores that Sansa had said she’d ensured would last the winter, which in itself was not likely, had been badly diminished by travel, raiders, rot.

Winterfell was a ruin, the glass gardens had been smashed by Ramsay Bolton.

Jon did not want to dwell in the despair of the North’s future. It weighed on him. He wanted to go with Daenerys to Essos. Marry her. Raise their child together. 

He had felt shame when he’d first realized their relation. Shame that he’d been with his own aunt, had fallen in love with her.

But he remembered that the man who had raised him, who had been the only father he’d ever known, had been born of parents who had been related. 

Lyarra Stark had been a Stark before she had married Rickard Stark. It had not been as close a relation. These thoughts had torn at him, torn him apart. And overshadowing that, was the ever present threat of the White Walkers, the Night King, the Army of the Dead. 

Now the threat still loomed, but he had hope. Before, he had said more than once that they didn’t have the numbers. 

Now, Daenerys had her army numbering over one hundred thousand, the entire military force of the Seven Kingdoms were training night and day, and the Dead Army was somewhere around thirty thousand. And the living had dragons and wildfire. 

Daenerys didn’t intend on a straight fight. She wanted to lure the Dead in, only to burn them all with wildfire and then pick off what was left. 

“We might win this,” he finally said. 

“We have the numbers now,” Bran said softly. 

“She’ll be really insufferable now,” Sansa said. 

“You cannot be serious, Sansa,” Arya said, before Jon could say anything. 

“I am serious. She thinks everyone should bow down to her.”

“She’s the queen,” Jon pointed out.

“No, she isn’t. She released you from your pledge to her, she didn’t take the throne from Cersei. She’s left the North, and after the war with the dead, she’s leaving Westeros, because we didn’t kiss her feet and fawn over her.”

“Kiss her feet and fawn over her? Sansa, we treated her like absolute garbage. You were openly hostile to her. You said she and her armies were going to deplete our stores - “

“They were.”

“We didn’t have enough to begin with,” Jon pointed out. “And she brought her own provisions. Your saying that only would have caused an uprising later. You set an example for how others would treat her.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking her side over your family,” Sansa snapped. 

“She’s my family too,” Jon said.

“She is not your family. I know you love her. But she’s not family.”

Jon sighed, glancing at Bran, who watched him with his expressionless face. 

He turned back to Sansa and Arya. “I found out recently...who my mother was.”

Arya leaned forward, her expression immediately tender. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I have to. I’m hoping you can understand,” he said. “My mother was Lyanna Stark.” They stared at him now, and he continued. “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen.” He went on to explain what Sam had told him. 

“You’re still our brother,” Arya said fiercely when he’d finished. “She’s your family, too. I understand that. But I love you and to me, you’ll always be my brother.”

“I love you, too,” he said. 

“Jon, you know what this means,” Sansa said, leaning forward. “You’re the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Sansa - “

“You are! You could gather support - “

“I’m not going to do that. Daenerys is - “

“Nothing,” Sansa said. “Her claim is nothing. You have the claim. Not her.”

“Daenerys is pregnant. With my child.” Sansa grew quiet at that, and Arya’s eyes grew wide. “She’s leaving Westeros after the war with the dead, because of how she was treated in the North. She doesn’t want to rule over people who hate her. 

“And she thought I might try to take the throne. She won’t war with me over it, and I won’t war with her. I’m going with her to Essos. I’m hoping she’ll marry me.”

“Congratulations, Jon! I’m so happy for you,” Arya said. 

“Are you sure the baby is even yours?” Sansa demanded. “Maybe she just told you that because your claim to the throne is better than - “

“Sansa!” Arya said in horror. 

Jon stood, walking away from her, his hands clenched into fists, breathing deeply. 

Once he was able to calm his rage, he turned, slowly walking back toward her. 

“Sansa, if she’s willing, she will be my wife. Yes, I’m fucking sure the child is mine. I don’t know what kind of twisted way you’ve started thinking and living. But don’t you ever suggest again that she would lie about a thing like this. I love her. She loves me. I never wanted a damn crown.”

“But she does.”

“I don’t even know if she does anymore. What I know, is that she is my family, as much as you are, and she’s carrying my child. I know we love each other. 

“I know that your fixation on crowns and titles and power and thrones led you to treat her like trash, and it cost the North dearly. 

“I know that she’s been risking her life, fighting the Night King to protect her people in Essos, so the dead don’t make it over there, and to keep her promise to me, that we would destroy the Night King and his army.

“And I know that if you ever again disrespect her by suggesting she would lie about my being the father of her child, I will never speak to you again.”

Sansa lowered her gaze. “I’m only trying to protect you, Jon. I don’t want to see you manipulated by her.”

“Manipulated by her? Sansa, she took Kings Landing. She gathered all Seven Kingdoms to fight the dead. She doesn’t need to manipulate me, or anyone.”

“And what about the North? If you leave with her, what happens to the North?”

He sighed. Daenerys had said the said the same thing. 

“The North is not going to be in good shape regardless of who leads it.”

“You’re abandoning your people,” she argued.

“How could I ask her to ever go back there? After how they treated her? Am I expected to give her up, give up my child? To have people spit when they see my family? I won’t do it, Sansa. I will fight for the North. It’s my home. It’s part of me. I’m willing to die for the North if it comes to it. But this...I can’t, and I won’t.”

Sansa stood up and walked out of the room. 

“That went well,” Jon said, running his hands through his hair.

Arya looked at him sympathetically. “Are you really going to Essos after the war?”

“I don’t want to abandon my people. But I won’t abandon Dany, either. I won’t abandon my child. The North made a choice out of it, not her. You saw how they treated her. It was disrespectful to her, and it was disrespectful to me, too. I brought her North to fight for us.”

Arya nodded. “I’m sorry for my part in that. I was worried about you. I didn’t trust her. But I should have trusted you. Father said the lone wolf dies, and the pack survives. That we have to protect each other. And I didn’t realize how we isolated you because we didn’t trust her. I should have tried to know her. I’m sorry for that.” 

Jon pulled her into a hug. “Thank you, Arya.”


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final war council before the battle.

Thirty

Daenerys sat with her hands folded as the others settled into their seats. Cersei sat beside her, watching everyone with her emerald eyes slightly narrowed. 

Jon had come in with Bran, Arya, Davos, Varys, Tyrion and Sam. Cersei had Qyburn with her. Daenerys had warned Jon that Cersei was not happy that Jaime and Brienne had been at the last council, and he’d left them behind. 

Daenerys herself had brought Grey Worm, Qhono, and Jorah. 

Other Lords had come in with their closest advisors as well.

Bran had agreed to the plan of appearing with Greensight in a location where the Night King might find him, while covering his true self with shadows. They could not be certain it would work, but it was their best chance. 

The wildfire had finally been lined throughout the foundations and rooms of Casterly Rock, now it was only a matter of choosing which of their fighters would be there to lure the dead. 

The defense plan was ready, as was the escape plan. 

And now they had to plan the death of the Night King himself.

Daenerys suggested that if the Bran decoy was at the edge of some height, in Casterly Rock, perhaps she could jump off Drogon and kill the Night King; then jump from the height back onto Drogon.

“I’d have to learn how to properly wield a sword, but - “

“No,” Jon said fiercely. “It’s too great a risk.”

“Absolutely not!” Cersei stormed at her. 

“I have to agree with them, Your Grace,” added Jorah. 

“What would you suggest then?” She asked, throwing her hands up. 

“Anything else,” Cersei snapped. “Literally anything else. Because that is ridiculous. The entire castle will be on fire. Does spending time with Northerners make you stupid too? I didn’t think stupidity was contagious, but - “

“Instead of insults, maybe you could make an actual suggestion?” Daenerys argued.

“How many of those Walkers have you taken down with spears? But now your plan is to burn yourself to death - “

“I won’t burn to death - “

“You know, you said something about that the other day, and I let it rest. I know you like to call yourself ‘The Unburnt’, but this battle is going to take place in reality, not some public relations story conjured by your...what are you doing?”

Daenerys had stood up impatiently, pressing her hand into a lit brazier, turning it in the flames, then holding it up, sooty but clearly unharmed.

“Not a story, not conjured,” she said, sitting back down. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Jon spoke.

“I also want to add that the jump from Drogon could kill you. The Night King could kill you. Jumping off the side of the castle onto Drogon could kill you.”

“How did you do that?” Cersei asked her, as if Jon hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know. It might be something in my family - “

“If that was a thing in your family, Summerhall would not have been a tragedy, it would rather be a grand show of Targaryens displaying their dominance,” Cersei pointed out.

Daenerys sighed. “We have to figure out a plan. If no one likes my plan, then - “

“What was wrong with my suggestion with the spears?” Cersei demanded.

“He hides behind his Walkers.”

“Then spear them, too. Done. Can we get back to how in the Seven Hells you are able to - “

“I don’t know how.”

“You’ve never wondered? That’s not just a talent, Stormborn, that’s - “

“We can talk about this later. We have to figure out how to kill the Night King. I can’t just spear him, he and his Walkers throw spears back.”

“They must not be very good, you certainly keep coming back here.”

“He killed one of my dragons. And he speared my leg.”

“Oh, I see. He speared your leg. Of course. How silly of me. Then naturally you should jump off your dragon into wildfire, face him and his Walkers down even though you have said yourself you have no experience with a sword. Because being murdered by a group of frozen dead men is far superior to a spear in the leg.”

Daenerys tapped her fingers on the table. “Fine. I’ll throw spears from Drogon. Would that make you happy, Your Grace?” 

“Any plan that doesn’t involve you jumping from your dragon into wildfire to fight with these otherworldly beings makes me happy. You have no experience with a sword, you have no idea whether that odd fire thing applies to wildfire, I’m confident the fire thing will not apply to the castle crashing around you, and jumping off the cliffside of a burning castle in the hopes of landing on your dragon is one of the maddest Mad Targaryen plans I’ve ever heard and I HAVE received a formal education, so I’ve heard them all.”

The rest of the room remained silent, waiting to see if either of the arguing queens had anything further to say. 

“So there will be support from the air, with Queen Daenerys throwing spears. If she’s right and he’s hiding behind Walkers, should we have others there to fight as well?” Ser Davos asked.

“The entire point of using a decoy for Bran was to avoid anyone being burned by wildfire,” Daenerys said. 

“I’ll stay with the decoy,” Jon said. “Once we’ve killed the Night King...”

“How will you get out of the castle?” Daenerys demanded. 

“I could try your idea and jump off the cliff. All the dragonlore says that dragons do better with riders. With you on Drogon, you have a much better chance of - “

“No,” Daenerys said.

“I love how you suddenly recognize how mad the plan is when someone else suggests doing it,” Cersei said, smirking. “And he’s not in your...condition.”

“Dany - forgive me. Your Grace, this is our best chance,” Jon said.

“And I love how it was a mad plan when I suggested doing it, but you think it’s completely rational when you want to do it,” Daenerys snapped at him. She was afraid, and she didn’t like to show fear. But if Jon jumped off the castle and she failed to catch him...she shuddered.

“It’s like Cersei said - “

“Queen Cersei,” Cersei interjected.

“It’s like Queen Cersei said, I have more experience with a sword.”

“And what of the wildfire?” Daenerys demanded.

“Does the Bran decoy have to be in the burning castle? What if he starts there and moves out as the fires start raging?” Ser Davos asked.

“He’ll know it’s not me, then. Because he knows I can’t walk,” Bran said. 

Daenerys kept her hands folded tightly in front of her so they wouldn’t tremble. It was one thing to be angry at Jon, to mistrust him, to hate his people for the slimy ungrateful things that they were; it was another thing entirely to have him die. 

She would practice on Drogon, flying close to the castle, she told herself. She saw Cersei smirking at her, and she glared, which only made Cersei laugh. 

“What If nobody kills him that night?” Cersei finally asked. “After the castle burns. Surely Bran can use whatever power he has to see things, to see where he is. The idea was to destroy his army and lure the Night King in. Once that’s done, can’t solid fighters find him and his Walkers and surround them? Kill them? 

“That way his army dies, he dies, and no one has to jump out of burning castles.”

Jon nodded. “We can’t let him get away. He’ll build another army and - “

“Then don’t. But I fail to see why any of the living need to commit suicide.” She sipped at her wine. “Now if that’s all, I’m going to rest.” She left the room, and Daenerys hurried after her.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“For?”

“For...coming up with an idea that wouldn’t involve Jon killing himself.”

“Hm. I was going to keep silent, just so you could ruminate on just how ridiculous your plan was, and I knew you would only realize how foolish it was if someone else was planning to do it. I don’t understand why you’re so reckless, Stormborn, especially now, carrying a child. You need to stop. You’ll be responsible for more than your own life, and then you’ll have to treat it with more care. Tomorrow I want to know more about this fire thing of yours.”


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night Part 1

Chapter Thirty One

Daenerys 

The night came, and Casterly Rock was silent in anticipation. 

The battle began before a single soldier could be seen. Snow and blisteringly cold wind howled at the walls, as the Night King’s first line of offense. 

Daenerys waited. She knew there would be little visibility, if any. She’d fought against this fucker a few times now, and had only been able to see snow spitting in her face.

When the Dead approached the castle, the archers on the walls of Casterly Rock sent arrows into the night; arrows tipped with dragonglass. 

They poured pitch over the walls, and launched flaming volleys into the hissing rotting horde. 

It took some time for the Dead to come close to breaching Casterly Rock’s defenses, but of course the idea was only to lower their numbers before they stormed the castle, to make escape easier for the living. 

Daenerys watched, waited, listened. 

There were boats out on the water to pull the escaping soldiers out of the freezing Bay and bring them to the ships. 

Once the ships sent up the final signals, Daenerys flew Drogon over the castle. 

“Dracarys,” she urged, and Drogon blew his flames over the castle; after a few minutes of this, the castle exploded into a green inferno. 

She continued to rain down fire, igniting the remaining caches of wildfire, then rode down over the approach, to burn any wights approaching; at the bottom of the hill, where she had had her men lay more wildfire, she saw more green fire rise up to meet Drogon’s flames.

She knew now it would be a matter of more waiting, so wait she did. 

Jon 

Jon stood on the ship, watching the green glow behind a curtain of snow and wind. He felt the creeping of fear only when the yellow fire stopped raining from above. Where was she? 

Of course, she was probably waiting. But...

“She’s alive,” Bran assured him, and he turned to see Bran, sitting in his wheelchair, with Arya and Sansa standing behind him. 

Jon hated standing on the ship, waiting. 

But Daenerys had made a valid point. He and Bran knew the Night King better than any living person. Jon had to be there at the final fight. 

Jon’s previous plans had been predicated on having as many men to fight the dead as possible; they’d had nowhere near the numbers to defeat him in a straight fight. They would just try to throw all they had at the wall of dead, and hope to survive until the Night King exposed himself, then kill him.

Daenerys had blown that plan to...well, to ashes.

“Her solution to everything is fire,” Sansa said, as if reading his thoughts.

“It was an effective solution here,” Jon said.

“But she wants to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Fire won’t solve everything.”

Jon sighed. “She doesn’t. Not anymore. It’s going to be Cersei. And you can thank yourself for that.”

“Queen Cersei,” Cersei’s voice snapped from a few feet away, and Jon turned sharply to where the queen stood with her brothers, watching the muted green flames that swallowed their ancestral home. “I know you’re Northerners, so not the sharpest swords in the smithy, but surely you can remember that I’m the Queen.”

Jon sighed. “Forgive me,” he said, though his voice was cold. “Queen Cersei.”

“And I suppose I have you to thank as much as your sister. And all your little Northerners. If only you’d had any political training whatsoever. You’d know how to properly meet with allies. Although...your sister did spend quite a bit of time in Kings Landing. But alas, still so selfish and stupid.”

“We are not selfish or stupid,” Sansa said, turning to her. 

“Oh, little dove. Most of your kingdom’s soldiers fight for the army of the dead now. And those who weren’t obliterated at the Neck, are burning to cinders as we speak. Because you never learned diplomacy. It’s sad. Well, for you. Not for me.”

Sansa glared at her. “You can judge us all you like, but it wasn’t as if she came to take over your home and your people.”

“Indeed. And again, I thank you and the rest of the North for that, because I’m quite sure that was her plan before meeting all of you. You put her right off all of Westeros. She thinks the entire continent is made up of ungrateful and exploitative snakes and she wants no part of it.”

“I was only trying to protect my family and my people.”

“Most of your people are dead now. And if you don’t learn some diplomacy quickly, what’s left of them will starve.”

“And what about you?” Sansa’s voice was getting louder. “You haven’t exactly protected anyone, have you?”

“I never pretended I was trying to protect the people, I was quite honest about what I wanted and why.”

“You certainly didn’t protect your children,” Sansa snarled at her. 

Cersei’s mouth twitched, but she recovered quickly. “I protected them as best I could, with the kind of snakes I was left with when my brother murdered my father. At least I didn’t cause their deaths.”

“Enough of this,” Jon interrupted wearily before Sansa could respond. “We’re at the end of the world. The living against the dead. Let’s make sure that’s over before we go at each other’s throats.”

“Most of the dead army is gone. It’s only the Night King, his Walkers, and a few hundred wights,” Bran said.

Jon wanted to sit down, right on the ship, and weep. Years of being held, almost a captive to fear of utter human annihilation, over. 

They still had to destroy the Night King. But his army was gone. 

“What about Queen Daenerys?” Cersei demanded. “Has she gotten herself killed?”

“No,” Bran said. “She’s still alive. She’s waiting a little longer. Then she’ll fly back to Dragonstone so we can convene and discuss the final fight with the Night King.”

Cersei gave a brief little nod, and Jon thought for a moment she looked almost relieved, but her eyes fixated on the green flames and her face smoothed over. Jaime and Tyrion too watched the green flames devour their childhood home.

“Our family’s treasures are gone,” Jaime said softly.

“If you mean jewels and the like, they were gathered and sold a moon ago,” Cersei told him impatiently. “I have a ring that father gave to mother. And a bracelet of hers. If you’d bothered to stay here, and actually cared about our child, you could have chosen something too, I’d imagine. The rest is gone.”

“You sold our family’s heirlooms?” Tyrion asked. 

“Your silver haired queen sold it all, and everything I could find that belonged to her family as well.”

“Why?”

“To feed the people,” Cersei said, her voice dripping with annoyance. “She apparently believes that it’s more important to feed random masses of ungrateful - “

She cut herself off, the breath leaving her body as Drogon seemed to appear out of the thick snows, flying over them, toward Dragonstone. 

The ship heaved as its crew started to unfurl the sails to follow her.


	32. Thirty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> The final war council about the army of the dead, and the final fight.
> 
> I’m a little worried about this chapter, definitely willing to edit!

Daenerys

It was snowing over Dragonstone. Daenerys had taken a hot bath to warm up after the burning of Casterly Rock. 

She’d promised Cersei that she would secure the gold to rebuild it. She had been running ideas through her mind thinking about ways to do so. 

In truth, she was not a queen at all anymore. She’d stated unequivocally that she was not taking the Iron Throne. She had left Meereen and the Bay of Dragons to choose their own rulers. Now she was just Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. 

Of course, she was still the Dothraki’s Khaleesi, still the chosen Queen of the Unsullied. But a Queen with no land. No kingdom. Her mind wandered again to Valyria. Jorah had said it was only stone men and ruins. That it would never be rebuilt. But how could they know?

Another concern she had, that had begun as a faint anxiety and grown into fear, was the future of Westeros. She wanted to be finished with them; once the Night King was dead, her promises, except of course the one to Cersei to rebuild Casterly Rock, would be fulfilled. 

She’d destroyed Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, and the man himself was killed by her men. Cersei had promised that she would not threaten the independence of the Iron Islands. Daenerys’ promise to Yara Greyjoy was fulfilled. 

She’d already destroyed the Night King’s army. 

She owed Westeros nothing.

But the North had been willing to destroy itself over their independence, and if Cersei was as despised as Varys had claimed, the North might gain allies. Particularly if Jon decided to share the details of his parentage.

There could be more war, yet another war for the throne. A war that might claim the life of Cersei or Jon, or both of them. 

And Daenerys could verbally espouse indifference all she liked, but truly, she did not want them to die in a stupid war.

She laughed a little at herself now. A stupid war, she was calling it now. Yet she herself had fought wars for years. 

She was tired of war. She wanted nothing more than to settle somewhere peaceful with her child. Well...that wasn’t quite true. Was it a thing in her blood that ran with the fire, to want to rule? Yet more than that, she wanted peace. When she was a child, she’d only wanted her house, her red door, her lemon tree. Her childhood that had been stolen from her. She’d never intended to sit the Iron Throne, it was her brother’s.

She sat before her lit fireplace and allowed herself a moment to breathe. Soon she would have to meet with Jon and the others to discuss the final fight to kill the Night King. If they didn’t find him and kill him, he could add others to his army and return, and Westeros would remain in the grip of an eternal winter.

Daenerys had given Jon her word that they would destroy the Night King together. 

Soon that word would be kept, and then she would leave Westeros and never look back. 

Jon

Jon waited for Daenerys, sitting at the table with its painted map, watching the snow fall outside, silent as it descended to the Blackwater Bay.

Sansa, Bran and Arya had come in, as had Cersei and Qyburn. 

Jaime and Brienne sat together at the other end of the table, as if to protect themselves from the daggers Cersei was shooting at them.

Tyrion sat at Sansa’s other side. Jon could see him looking with longing at the seat directly right to the head of the table. The seat where the Queen’s Hand would sit. 

Sam had come in as well, arguing that he had some knowledge of the Night King and could be of help. 

Jon was not fond of the idea. He loved Sam, truly, as his own brother. But he and Daenerys had not made a positive impression on each other. 

Daenerys entered then, and Jon’s breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a black dress with rich red dragons embroidered across its front, and her hair was styled as it had been before all of this; tendrils around her face, and braids as her crown at the top of her head, with the moonlight waves falling loose down her back. 

Missandei, Grey Worm and Qhono entered with her, and sat beside her as she took her place at the head of the table. 

She fixed her amethyst gaze on Bran. 

“What are his numbers now?” She asked.

“Himself, eight Walkers and only about a hundred wights.”

“And where is he?”

“Waiting. He’s waiting because he knows we’ll be coming for him. Right now he’s in the depths of Casterly Rock. He’s aiming to freeze it to the extent it cannot be breached so he can rise up again.”

“Well that’s just lovely, isn’t it? You promised me my home would be rebuilt and now the Night King is going to hole himself up there!” Cersei thundered at Daenerys.

“And I will keep that promise. I don’t break my word like SOME queens I could name, and I - “

“And how will you do that, if he’s freezing the rubble? How will you even get to him?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss.”

“Does every conversation have to be interrupted by you two fighting?” Sansa demanded.

“Does every conversation have to be interrupted by your irrelevant outbursts?” Cersei shot back. 

“How can we get to him?” Daenerys asked Bran.

“Melting the ice. I’m sure you can manage that.”

“Can we still use your Greenseeing as a decoy?” Sansa asked.

“I think so. It would have to be reasonably close to Casterly Rock. And with the whole thing in icy rubble, it could be dangerous.”

They discussed the plan long into the night. 

Jon was waiting for the Night King. Bran had assured him he was there as well, and by the wind turning colder, Jon had to assume it was the truth. 

The wights came first, as they’d expected, but with so few of them now, the living were able to overpower them; then came the Night King and his Walkers. 

Daenerys began hurling her spears at the Walkers, and as she’d said, the Walkers moved closer to protect their King; Jon was fighting them as well, and terror squeezed at his chest every time one of them threw a spear at Drogon. 

He’d killed some of the Walkers, Daenerys had killed some of them, and then it was only him and the Night King; Daenerys watched them from above and Jon could see the fear in her face now. Jon was too close to the Night King for her to get a clear shot with her spears. 

He was tiring, but he was oddly high with the thrill of the fight. He fell at one point. The Night King stood over him, ready; a spear slid by him, and he looked up, looked at the dragon above him, and Jon plunged Longclaw into him.

He shattered. 

Jon fell to his knees then. It was over. 

He heard the rumbling of the ground as Drogon landed near him. Daenerys ran to his side, dropping to her own knees. 

“Are you all right?” She asked, reaching to touch his face. 

He stared at her. “I’m...Yes. Im all right.” He took her face into his hands. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.” 

He kissed her then, and her arms wound around him as she kissed him back. 

Behind them, the sun began to shimmer at the horizon.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany...celebrate...some mild smut.

Daenerys 

The morning light shimmering on glass objects in her chambers had never looked so lovely. But far more beautiful was how it’s golden rays painted Jon’s naked body above her as he thrusted inside her. She arched her back, mad with ecstasy, her mouth seeking his. 

She wrapped her legs around him, flipping him over so she was on top of him, grinding against him. 

They rolled back and forth this way, one on top, then the other, laughing and gasping in pleasure and sheer joy. 

Hours passed, fierce and wanton, then drowsy and smiling.

“I’ll be leaving for Essos within the fortnight,” she told him softly. She hated to break the mood, but he had to know.

“We,” he responded, running his fingers through her hair. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re sure about this? You said you love the North. That it’s a part of you. I may not care for them, but I know how much they mean to you. They’ve put themselves into a terrible position now, and I know it hurts you.”

Jon smiled at her teasingly. “You’re worried about the North now?”

“No. No more than I would worry about any enemy, and they’ve made it quite clear that they consider me an enemy. But you...you are not my enemy. Anymore.” She looked tenderly into his face. “I love you, Jon. But I know you want them to be safe. It’s who you are. If you need to stay with them until they are on their feet, I understand. I won’t be happy about it,” she quipped. “But if you’re willing to travel across the world with me, I have to be willing to let you do what you need to do first.”

“I need to be with you. If they can’t accept or respect that, respect you, then I can’t be anything to them. Not a king, not a Lord. Not even a Northerner.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Marry me, Dany.”

She nodded. Her voice failed her, and she was so happy that she was almost afraid. Could she truly be with him, marry him, have a child with him and...just be? Find a house, paint the door red, plant a lemon tree?

Dragons plant no trees, an old warning tolled in her head. 

This one does, she thought. 

Jon 

Jon could not remember ever being happy.

He’d had fleeting moments, where he’d felt happy. But this was a steady undercurrent, of truly being happy. 

The Night King was dead, his armies gone. 

Daenerys had sworn they would do this together, and they had.

He had won back her love, and he found that he loved her more now than he ever had. She was carrying his child. She had agreed to marry him. 

They’d returned to the Red Keep shortly after the battle for the dawn. The morning after he battle, all he had done was take a hot bath and then Dany. Just him and her, and the world around them fell away.

Now it was back to the business of Westeros, but it was only a matter of some time before he and Dany would leave Westeros with her dragons and armies and build their life together.

He had to speak with his family, with the lords of the North...what was left of them. He was going to Essos, and would not be swayed, but Daenerys was right; he wanted them to be safe. He walked toward Maegor’s Holdfast, where family had been given rooms. Cersei had stated that Sansa’s old room had been there, and might like to have it again. Jon was fairly sure nothing could be further from the truth.

He’d spent little time in his room anyway, he thought, smiling to himself. 

He saw Varys, and nodded at him, though he kept walking.

“Lord Snow, may I have a word?” Varys asked, falling into step beside him.

“Go ahead.”

“With the threat of the Night King gone, you may think the realm is safe. But it isn’t. Cersei has sent out ravens. She has demanded the lords and ladies of the realm appear before her to swear fealty.”

“I’m not staying here. I’m going to Essos with Queen Daenerys.”

“I understand that you have always placed duty above your own desires. Has that ended?”

Jon looked at him sharply. “I am going to ensure the North’s safety before I leave.”

“I’m not speaking of the North, my lord. Or should I say, Your Grace?”

Jon stopped short, turning to him and narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m not king of the North anymore,” Jon reminded him.

“I was fairly sure Queen Daenerys released you from your pledge, but I was not referring to the North. I was referring to the Iron Throne.”

Sansa, Jon thought angrily. He hadn’t exactly sworn her to secrecy, but he’d expected some discretion. 

“I don’t want the Iron Throne. I’m going to Essos. I’m marrying Queen Daenerys.”

“Ruling isn’t a right, you know. It’s a duty.”

“It’s not my duty. My duty is to Daenerys and our child.” He turned and walked away from him, toward his family’s rooms.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon confronts Sansa, Varys attempts drastic measures and gets arrested. Cersei finds out about Jon’s parentage.

34

Jon 

Sansa was sitting with Bran and Arya when Jon entered the chambers. 

He greeted his siblings, then focused on Sansa. “Who did you tell about my parentage?” He demanded. He doubted she’d told Varys directly.

She met his gaze defiantly. “I told Tyrion.”

“Why?”

“Because Cersei is a killer. She’s dangerous. She’ll never allow the North to keep its independence. It’s your duty to fight her.”

Jon tried to quell the rage that swept through him. 

“Do my plans for my own life mean nothing to you? I told you, I’m marrying Daenerys. She doesn’t want to stay here, and she’s certainly not going to go North ever again.”

“And you would abandon your home, your family, your people,” she snapped.

“That’s one way to look at it. Another way to look at it, is that my family and my people abandoned me. You refused to trust me. I brought a powerful ally, who incidentally kept her word to help me destroy the Night King and his army. Whereas none of you kept your word to me. You chose to have Cersei on the throne instead of Daenerys, and made it clear you would not respect my commands as king or as Lord.”

“It’s still your duty to fight her, Jon. You are the rightful king.”

“Sansa...what does rightful mean? My father was married with two children when he supposedly married my mother. I don’t know how annulments work, but I’m fairly sure they’re ineffective with a consummated marriage. We would have to rally people. Convince them this marriage was valid. Convince them to follow another Targaryen, and you saw how they treated Daenerys. 

“If they even agreed to follow me, thousands would die. All so that you could be queen in the North. That’s all you want, that’s all you care about. And how would you feed them? Your lack of diplomacy was a major factor in losing our greatest ally against the dead. Most of the Northerners are dead. Most of our food is gone. You put your desire for a crown before the safety of our people. You and they ranked pride above survival. And it cost the survival of too many.”

“It’s not about pride, it’s about freedom.”

Jon sighed. “So you say. But this is no longer a thing that involves me. I will stay long enough to help the North establish means for survival. And then I’m leaving.”

“Where will you go?” Arya asked, and Jon smiled at her, as he saw in her face only love and concern.

“Essos. Dany wants to find a house like the one she lived in as a child.”

“Can I visit you?” 

“Always,” he said. 

Daenerys 

Daenerys sat at the table with Missandei and Cersei. They were going to have supper together, to discuss the arrangements for the next fortnight.

“Once everyone is here, all the lords and ladies of Westeros, I will demand their fealty,” Cersei said firmly. “I need this to be established before...before my daughter is born.”

“All right,” Daenerys said, looking at the door impatiently. She was hungry. 

“You will be at the council.”

“Why?” Daenerys said, her eyes swinging to Cersei. 

“For one thing, you promised Lady Yara independence for the Iron Islands. The North has threatened their independence as much as the throne has. It wasn’t the Red Keep who stole their heir to guarantee the good behavior of the Salt Throne.”

“So I have to be here to let everyone know I will support their claim with my military alliance.”

“Exactly. And you said you would do the same for my daughter’s claim to Casterly Rock.”

“All right.”

“I want all the lords and ladies here. I know you won’t swear fealty to me. But you aren’t planning to swear fealty to anyone else, are you?”

“No. My fealty means nothing anyway. I hold no lands here - “

“On the contrary, you are the Lady of Dragonstone. There are plenty enough Targaryen loyalists there still.”

Daenerys frowned. 

A young girl entered with a cart, pushing it against the table. Her eyes were frightened and her hands shook as she laid out the plates.

“Finally,” Cersei said, reaching for the flagon of wine. 

“Don’t,” Daenerys said sharply, watching the girl’s fearful movements.

“Oh, this again?” Cersei rolled her eyes, pouring the wine. “I told you, my children were all quite robust, despite - “ She was raising the glass to her lips when Daenerys smacked it out of her hand. It shattered, sending wine splashing all over the wooden floor. “What in seven hells is wrong with you?” She demanded. 

Daenerys turned to the little girl. “What’s your name, sweetling?”

“Martha,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Come here, Martha. Are you hungry? Look, these cakes are lovely. Why don’t you have one?”

The girl started to cry then. 

Cersei was staring at them, mystified. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all right, Martha. Sit down. No one will hurt you,” Daenerys said, her voice carefully soft. She turned to Cersei. “You may be far more experienced with Westerosi politics than I am. I acknowledge that. But there’s one area in which I’ve had much experience, sadly. Assassination attempts. This food is poisoned. All of it. The wine, too.”

Cersei’s emerald eyes narrowed. “Then this girl must be punished.”

“No. She’s a child. We have no idea what threats or promises were made to her.” She looked at Martha. “You must tell us. I promise no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

“He said you would destroy the North,” the girl whispered. 

“The North did that on its own,” Cersei retorted.

“Who?” Daenerys urged gently.

“Lord Varys. He said he wants what’s best for the realm. He said Cersei will destroy it and you’re going to make the rightful king surrender his throne and leave us. If you and she both...both die, the realm will have the right ruler and the North will be safe and free.”

Daenerys frowned. Had Varys sent spies to listen to her and Jon? Or had someone told him?

“That snake!” Cersei growled. “I will hang him! Hanging’s too good, on second thought. He’d have killed us and our children. Beheading is too good. I will - “

“You’ll do nothing, I’m afraid,” Daenerys said softly. “I made the man a promise.”

“Whatever your promises, Stormborn, he must die.”

“I promised him if he ever betrayed me, I’d burn him alive.”

“Oh.” Cersei leaned back in her seat. “I like that promise, actually. It’s so lovely that you always keep your promises.”

Daenerys turned to her guards. “Bring him here.”

“Is someone going to bring us food that’s not poisoned?” Cersei asked. 

Daenerys wanted to laugh. But her chest hurt, and she wasn’t hungry anymore. She, Cersei, the babes inside them, Missandei, could have all died today.

The sooner she left Westeros, the better.

Varys was brought to the room, and Daenerys pushed the food toward him. 

“Are you hungry? We find we have no appetite,” she said.

He looked at the plate, then at her. He knew. 

“Your Grace, my loyalty is to the realm, I’ve told you this.”

“And you told me you would look into my face and tell me if I’m failing the people.”

“You are failing the people by taking away their rightful king,” he said. “By refusing to rule, by refusing to take the throne, by having him do the same.”

“I’m not taking him away. He has his own mind and makes his own decisions. You know that Queen Cersei and I are with child. You would have murdered them and Missandei along with us.”

“And that’s regrettable, but - “

“I think I’ve been patient for long enough,” Cersei cut in, fixing Daenerys with eyes that glittered, volatile like twin pools of wildfire. “That little girl and this snake mentioned a rightful king, and you seem to know what they’re talking about.”

Daenerys sighed. “Jon. They’re talking about Jon.”

Cersei turned back to Varys. “There’s never been much of a trust between us. But you’d have murdered my babe along with me. You’d have murdered Queen Daenerys and her babe after she saved Westeros, just to make Jon Snow stay here. You are vile.”

“Jon is the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms,” Varys told her.

Daenerys turned to her guards. “Take him,” she told them. 

Cersei turned to Daenerys. “King of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“It’s a long story, and one I’m sure you’ll hear eventually anyway.” Gods, these Westerosi were the messiest, most indiscreet people she’d ever met.

“Then tell me,” Cersei urged impatiently.

Daenerys’ heart started to pound. “He’s...the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

Cersei raised one eyebrow. “Is he?”

“Lyanna Stark was never kidnapped by my brother Rhaegar. They were in love. They married, and Lyanna asked Ned Stark to protect her son. Jon’s name is Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Daenerys felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She could not deny that she’d developed an unwilling affection for Cersei, and she loved Jon with her entire soul. 

She had said to Jon once that they could battle each other for the throne, but now the idea terrified her.

Cersei, however, started to laugh in unconcealed delight. 

“What an exciting story. I especially love the bit where thousands of Northmen died to defend poor kidnapped Lyanna Stark, but it turned out she was just a selfish irresponsible child who split the realm in a war that killed countless men, because she liked fucking a married man.”

“He married her,” Daenerys said.

“Rhaegar was already married. He had children,” Cersei said.

“I think they believe there was an annulment.”

“The marriage was consummated. Did Princess Elia suddenly decide that she wanted her children to be bastards?”

“A secret annulment,” Daenerys clarified.

“So...an invalid annulment, then. They can try to press this all they like. But an invalid annulment makes for an invalid marriage And regardless, your father took Rhaegar’s children out of succession. My brother Jaime told me all about it. Quite the scandal at the time. Dorne was very displeased.

“But of course this is good news for me, because rather than fighting them myself over this, I can simply sit back and watch what’s left of the North be torn to pieces by Dorne. They’ve barely been touched by winter, whereas the North has been all but destroyed by the army of the dead, because they were too stupid and stubborn to accept a powerful ally.”

Daenerys watched Cersei walk across the room to pour some wine.

“You won’t try to harm Jon,” she said, her voice low.

“I see no reason to. He’s going to marry you, and you and he have your own plans,” Cersei said, returning to the table and sipping her wine.

“You’re not angry?”

“Angry? Of course not! I take some personal joy in this tale. For a few reasons. 

“There’s my ridiculous husband, who fought a war for his supposedly kidnapped and beloved Lyanna Stark, but really she just didn’t want him.

“There are all those who died for Lyanna Stark, thinking she was a victim, when really she just ran off with a married man, splitting the realm and causing untold deaths. I didn’t want to marry Robert either, but I wasn’t going to destroy the realm over it. 

“And people say I’m the selfish one.

“And the best part, is that Ned Stark confronted me about the parentage of my own children. He was outraged at the idea that my children might not be Robert’s. He knew Robert would murder my children if he were to hear this rumor, but Lord Stark intended to tell him anyway. 

“What are murdered children on your conscience, compared to moral outrage over a possible lie about parentage? And yet he was lying the entire time to protect his sister’s bastard with a married man. 

“How selective the moral outrage of the North.  
They’re all such hypocrites! If they fight me for the throne, they’ll be obliterated by Dorne because of the insult to Princess Elia.”

“I don’t think Jon intends to fight you for the throne,” Daenerys said.

“Good. It would be beyond foolish. Even if it was not an invalid marriage, even if Rhaegar’s children were not removed from succession, it wouldn’t matter. My slob husband took the throne by right of conquest. Targaryen succession is meaningless now. The only Targaryen who has a claim to it is you, and that’s the right of conquest, not birthright.”

“The North wants to be independent,” Daenerys said carefully. 

“Good. That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. Stormborn, they don’t have the means for independence. They can wax poetic all they like about thousands of years of independence before Aegon the Conqueror. 

“But the First Men took the North by conquest much the same as Aegon did. And they typically prepared for winter instead of spending the entire autumn at war. Even still, many starve during winter. 

“They were smart enough to band together with the children of the forest to fight the Night King. But those were the old Northerners.

“These Northerners today, did nothing but complain about fighting beside the wildlings. They would not even fight the Boltons. The Vale and the wildlings had to help win back Winterfell.

“Then they complained about fighting beside your men instead of banding together to fight the dead. These are not the wise, strong men of old. These are petulant and prideful men who would see their children starve rather than bend the knee. 

“Let them. The most foolish thing anyone could do is try to make war with the North in winter, even with their diminished numbers. The winter will wipe most of them out. Once spring comes, if you wish to take the North, it will be quite easy, because most of them will be dead.”

“Me? I’m not taking anything. I’m going to Essos.”

“Of course.” Cersei smiled, sipping her wine. “Of course you are.”


	35. Thirty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds out about what Varys did, Varys is executed, Cersei has a Great Council.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos, you all make me so happy! :-)

Jon 

The Red Keep was gradually becoming full, crowded, as the Lords and Ladies arrived, as well as the city’s inhabitants returning to fill the city. 

Jon had tried to discuss the future of the North with his people, but their morale had been crushed. The conversation had dissolved into tears and despair from the smallfolk and even the lords. Sansa had told him that she hoped to help them recover “since you’re leaving us in our hour of need,” she’d added sharply.

Jon felt sick thinking about what might happen to them. It was as he’d told Dany, he’d been a bastard his entire life. He had only just begun to be treated with respect by them, and then they had all felt betrayed by his bending the knee to a “foreign queen.”

Would they starve now? If they were unwilling to bend the knee to a queen who had come to save their lives, surely they wouldn’t bend the knee to Cersei. And they’d rushed out of Winterfell, their stores had been depleted. Too many had died. What was left? 

He hated to leave the North, it truly was a terrible time for them, but he couldn’t possibly expect Dany to go back there after they’d treated her as they had. She should not have to face such utter derision. And then, she was carrying his child. What if they treated his child that way?

No, he could not bring her North. And he would not abandon her. She had done what she had promised. And he loved her. 

His mind was torn in irreconcilable pieces. Leave the North to die, or lose the one person who had made him feel alive since he’d been dead, and maybe never see her again, or meet their child.

He saw Tyrion, looking pale and slightly sick, walking around as if lost. 

“Lord Tyrion,” he called, approaching him. “Are you all right?”

“Varys was arrested,” he said grimly. 

“Varys?” Jon frowned. He wondered with a sinking feeling if the Spider had been caught trying to put Jon on that damn throne and if that was what led to the arrest. “What did he do?”

“He tried to kill the queen, and my sister.” 

“He tried to kill Cersei? Is he insane? She’s pregnant.”

“Both of them. Cersei and Daenerys.”

Jon stared at Tyrion, unable to move for a minute. “Where is Daenerys?”

“In her chambers. She...”

Jon didn’t wait to hear whatever else Tyrion had to say. He started running toward Daenerys’ chambers, only stopping outside the heavy wooden door because of Grey Worm, who stood there to guard her. 

“I need to see her,” he said urgently. 

Grey Worm turned slightly to knock at the door, and Jon rushed in, taking her in, assessing that she was unharmed. Then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. She returned the embrace, her head resting against his shoulder. 

He was clinging to her, and he didn’t care. He could only think now that he’d almost lost her. That she could have died over that stupid fucking throne because Varys was more concerned about having his own way than the lives of a queen who had helped to save the realm, and the innocent babe inside her. 

“Tyrion just told me what happened. With Varys. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Physically, anyway. I can’t wait to get off this wretched continent.”

Jon looked at her tenderly. “I’m with you,” he told her. 

“Jon, Sansa is going to tell other people. About you, your parentage. And there’s a good chance Varys already did. You are a Targaryen. The world will know it soon enough.” She reached up to touch his face, her violet eyes soft and full of love. “I’m sorry for not coming to you when I overheard you talking to Sam. I was angry about everything else, and I really gave little thought to you. To how you must be feeling. I was wrong. 

“I know this must be hard for you. I am here for you now, I swear it. You have earned your kingship in the North, just as you earned your position as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. You say you never wanted a throne, but Jon, you are a natural leader. 

“It’s as Ser Davos said when we met. You were chosen by merit, not because of birthright.

“I knew I would never fight you for the throne. I didn’t want another Dance of Dragons. And I’ve essentially given my word not to fight Cersei either, because of her assistance in the war with the dead. I can’t be in this war at all. But what of you? What do you want to do?”

Jon frowned. He had barely had a chance to think about it, with the war against the dead hanging over them. 

“I want to marry you,” he told her. “Raise our child. The war with the dead is over. I confess, I hate to leave the North in such a desperate situation. But I’m not going to choose them, Dany. Not over you. Not over our child. 

“Cersei...she’s your friend. I understand that, though I can’t fathom how that happened. But she’s terrible. I can’t help but feel a certain responsibility in leaving the Seven Kingdoms in her hands.”

“The Seven Kingdoms are going to have hardship regardless of who rules now. They spent years at war, and now it’s winter.”

“Cersei doesn’t care.”

Daenerys laughed then, sadly. “No. She doesn’t. And she said as much. But what she does care about, is being threatened. She won’t let them starve even if she wants to. She doesn’t want riots.”

“I am not going to go to war over that throne unless you are. I pledged myself to you. You are the queen I chose.”

She smiled tenderly. “And you are the king I chose.”

“So we’ll go be the king and queen of that house of yours, with the red door and the lemon tree,” he said, pulling her tighter. “And as far as my name, I can’t say I don’t care. But I’ve been Jon as long as I can remember, and my...uncle,” he caught himself before he said ‘father’. “He named me after Jon Arryn. Who was a second father to him, as Lord Stark was to me. I’ll always be Jon. I wanted so much for so long to be a Stark. And now...”

“You’re still a Stark. As much as you’re a Targaryen. But Jon...what name do you want? Cersei will legitimize you - “

“I doubt that.”

“She will. And for yourself, you’ll never have to choose. You’ll always be who you are. But our children will bear your name. What name will you give them?”

“I’d feel dishonest now, being named Stark. And they’re your children, too. We will be Targaryens.”

Varys’ trial was a formality, really. He admitted that he’d attempted to kill both queens and their unborn children, along with Missandei, in the hopes that Jon would stay in Westeros to keep the throne. 

Daenerys studied him, and pronounced her verdict, sentencing him to die by dragon fire.

Varys didn’t cry out or scream as the fire enveloped him. 

Daenerys 

Daenerys couldn’t wait to leave Westeros. She hoped that this Great Council would be over quickly. 

The lords and ladies had assembled, and Cersei had asked Daenerys and Jon to sit beside her with their advisors at her table to face them. 

“Today we have gathered together the lords and ladies of all Seven Kingdoms,” Cersei said, standing, her posture tall and her chin high despite being heavy with child. “We have banded together to fight the Great War. And we won. Now it seems we have before us, the choice of war or peace. You may bend the knee to me, acknowledge me as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and have peace. Or, continue the war. I would hear what you have to say.”

Sansa stood up. “We will never bend the knee to you,” she said coldly.

“No? You will choose instead to have your people starve?” Cersei asked.

“Jon is the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said. 

Jon looked at her sharply. “Sansa,” he growled. 

There was a low rise of whispers throughout the room. 

Cersei smiled at her. “The King in the North has rendered a great service to the Seven Kingdoms and all of humanity, in his quest to gather people together to fight an enemy that would have vanquished us all. 

“Indeed, it was he who struck the final killing blow to the Night King. So I don’t wish to embarrass him because of you. I’ve brought a document you may wish to see.” She lifted an aged parchment that had been on the table in front of her. “This is a statement made by King Aerys Targaryen the Second. In this, he named his son Viserys Targaryen, as his heir. He left Prince Rhaegar’s children out of the succession.”

She handed the parchment to Sansa. 

“What does any of this have to do with the topic at hand?” Edmure Tully demanded, his glance sweeping from his niece to Cersei. 

“Nothing, really, since the Targaryens were overthrown,” Cersei said. “But Lady Stark is clearly not ready for peace. So we must dredge up - “

“You are a terrible Queen!” Sansa was almost yelling now.

“That I may be, my Lady, but I am nevertheless, the queen. So unless Jon or Aegon or whatever he’s calling himself intends to fight me for the throne, we are in agreement that it’s mine.”

She looked at the lords and ladies, waiting. They looked utterly confounded by the exchange between Cersei and Sansa. 

Daenerys looked at Jon. She ached for him. 

“Is anyone unwilling to bend the knee?”

Most of the lords and ladies looked displeased, but did it anyway. 

Jon sighed as the Northerners looked at him pointedly. He stood

“It’s as Lady Sansa said, Your Grace,” he told Cersei. “The North wishes to be independent. They were angry at me for bending the knee to Queen Daenerys, and judging by the look they’re giving me, they don’t want to bend the knee to you, either.”

“I see. And you declare yourself its king?”

“No, Your Grace. They declared me king, and I accepted the crown to save the North from the dead. The North was my home. But the war with the dead is over. I will be leaving with Queen Daenerys, and they will choose another leader.” 

“Well, this council is to decide who will be the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” She looked then at the lords of the North. “If you wish to be independent, I hope you realize the consequences.”

“What consequences?” Sansa demanded.

“Oh, little dove. I almost liked you once. You seemed so sweet and so intelligent. Of course there will be consequences. You have no food, do you? Or if you do, it’s very little. Most of your people are dead or maimed. Your glass gardens are destroyed. Winterfell is all but a ruin. And winter is upon you. How is it that you don’t even understand the meaning of your own House words? Winter has indeed come. You cannot expect assistance from the other kingdoms if you intend to be independent. You have what? Three thousand men? Less?”

“Fewer,” Ser Davos corrected.

“Fewer indeed. And many of those are wildlings, are they not? Are they to live on land while refusing to bow to its ruler? Or will they be going North of the Wall after winter?” 

“We don’t know yet,” Sansa said hesitantly.

“Well, as amusing as it would be to me if they did bow to you, as it would mean their king Mance Rayder and thousands of others died at Hardhome for nothing, I doubt that will happen. And you’ll be left with even fewer to farm your land, and even that will be what’s left of those who survive winter.

“I suppose the idea of being queen is seductive to you. The crown goes to you next. But you will be ruling over a graveyard tended by emaciated orphans. You Northerners like to at least pretend you have honor. Isn’t the survival of your people more important than your pride?” Cersei asked. 

Jon and Daenerys glanced at each other. 

“It’s not about pride, it’s about freedom,” Sansa snapped. 

“Freedom, is it? Well if you all die, I suppose you’d be free. Only you can decide if it’s worth the cost.”

There was a tense silence. 

Yara Greyjoy stood then. “The Iron Islands also wish to be independent,” she said.

“Ah, yes. Queen Daenerys has informed me of this and stated that she will bring her own forces to bear against anyone who threatens your independence. The Salt Throne is yours, Your Grace. I expect you’ll keep to your end of the bargain you made with her, and there will be no more raids?”

“Yes,” Queen Yara said. “We will no longer raid, as per our agreement.” She sat back down, smiling. 

“What of the waters near the North?” Sansa demanded. “If we are both independent, the waterways are in contention.”

“As you are both independent, that’s between you,” Cersei said. 

Yara grinned at this, but Sansa glared.

“I am ending male progenitorship,” Cersei continued, “Casterly Rock will be rebuilt, and it will be inherited by my daughter, regardless of what other children will be born to my brothers, as I am the eldest. Jaime and I are twins, but I was born first.” She looked at Jaime and Tyrion. “Queen Daenerys has vowed to provide military aid to my daughter, should anyone contest her claim.”

Both men assured her that they had no intention of contesting it.

“Good,” Cersei said. “King Jon is leaving, I suppose Sansa wishes to be queen of the North...what’s left of it.”

“And what of the raids in the North?” Robett Glover demanded. “Will the understanding between the crown and the Ironborn apply to the North?”

Cersei smirked. “What happens between independent kingdoms is not my concern.”

Even Jon looked uneasy at that.

“Further,” Cersei continued, “I demand that all lords, ladies, and wardens still belonging to my own kingdoms, tell their people what Queen Daenerys did during this war.”

Daenerys’ eyes shot to Cersei’s face in surprise.

“I understand that Northerners are all ungrateful toads,” Cersei continued, “but this will not be tolerated in my kingdoms. She could have left here, left us to die, and set up her defenses in Essos. But she didn’t. She arranged the evacuations, she set up the care of the people at the ports, she demanded the Citadel send out ravens to warn everyone, and she destroyed the Night King’s army almost singlehandedly.

“You all live because of her.”

Cersei turned to Jon. “Do you intend to fight me for the throne?”

“I don’t. I’m leaving with Dany...I mean, Queen Daenerys.”

“It’s understood, then, that I am the queen of the...I suppose it’s Five Kingdoms now. And should Queen Daenerys change her mind - “

“I won’t,” Daenerys said.

“ - must you interrupt me? IF she changes her mind, you understand the throne is hers through conquest.”

“If she takes the throne I won’t challenge her for it, or war with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good. You give me your word?”

“I do.”

“I understand you two are to be married. If she changes her mind, you would be her king regardless. She tells me you were a good king. You put your people first, you showed courage, you fought beside your men. She tells me also you did not take the land from the Umbers and Karstarks as your sister wanted.”

“I will not hold a child responsible for their father’s crimes.”

“Good. Let it also be known that King Jon has been aware of the threat beyond the Wall for some time.

“Like Queen Daenerys, he could have simply left Westeros. Instead he chose to stay and fight this enemy, at peril to his own life. I trust you lords and ladies will ensure your people are aware of this.

“As Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady Protector of the Five Kingdoms, I hereby legitimize you, Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name.” She smiled. “I can’t very well have Queen Daenerys’ child called Snow.”

“You aren’t going to fight us over our independence?” Sansa demanded.

“Fight a war in the North during Winter? I’m not the fool you take me for, little dove. Besides, it saves me from trying to figure out how to feed you. Your kingdom is a ruin. If you choose to lighten my burden by heroically starving, by all means, do so. 

“As long as you understand, that independence means exactly that. We do not provide aid, military or otherwise, we do not involve ourselves in disputes. 

“You were always free, truly. You don’t follow the Seven, you follow the old gods. Your Northern Houses Umber and Bolton were said to continue First Night long after King Jaehaerys abolished it. 

“My husband complained all the time about how stubborn and difficult you were, how impossible to keep in line. North of the Neck, you truly did as you liked.

“All this means to me is that I call myself queen of one less kingdom, and I must therefore feed one less kingdom. If calling yourself queen and having your broken people bow to you is worth their starving, I’ll leave you to it.”

She stood. “We will begin having discussions about feeding the Five Kingdoms in a fortnight. By then I expect my child will be born. I thank you all for coming today.”

Later, Daenerys sat with Cersei. She knew Jon was with his family.

“Did you see how most of the lords and ladies bent the knee?” Cersei said. “I expect Dorne will declare their independence before long, but that will be another day’s problem,” Cersei was speaking lightly, sipping her wine, but her eyes were glittering. 

“I saw,” Daenerys said softly. “Why did you tell them they must tell their people about me and Jon?”

“A formality, really. They’ll be singing songs about the two of you, no doubt. You saved some of them quite directly on your dragon. Jon’s reputation as a warrior was well known long before this. Now he’s killed the Night King.”

“Yes,” Daenerys said, smiling proudly. 

“Something you should understand, is that those lords and ladies absolutely despise me.”

“I would think your contributions to the war with the dead would help with that,” Daenerys observed.”

Cersei laughed. “You’re so idealistic. No, Stormborn. They hate me. And I’ll tell you something. I don’t care. They're nothing to me, and I’ve never cared one bit for their regard. Do you know what my father used to say? A lion doesn’t concern itself with the opinions of sheep.”

“Wise words,” Daenerys said softly. 

“Indeed, and words you should remember. You decided not to take the throne because the people didn’t like you. But that never should have mattered.”

“And we’re right back to this,” Daenerys said, sighing. 

“Yes. We’re right back to this. They don’t have to be my friends. They don’t have to like me. I’m their queen.”

Daenerys winced. She remembered saying something similar to Jon. She doesn’t have to be my friend. But I am her queen. 

But it hurt. It hurt then. And it hurt now. She’d been excited about the prospect of meeting his family. She’d only ever had her brother, who had sold her without hesitation and would have been willing to see her raped to death by Drogo’s men and his horses to secure an army. 

She’d admired Jon’s love for his family, and had hoped they could have a friendship. That she and Jon would be together, and maybe she could be part of his family one day. She’d hoped they would like her. 

She felt stupid now for hoping. 

“What now?” Cersei interrupted her reverie. 

“Nothing,” Daenerys said quickly.

Really, she was embarrassed. She should never have thought for one minute that she would be able to have a relationship with Jon’s family. 

But it hurt, and worse, it would hurt him far more. 

She knew he would be heartbroken to lose his family. She may be angry at them, even dislike them for their meanness and their rejection of her. They’d started out disliking her, but now she didn’t like them either. 

But Jon...he deserved to have his family, and his love for her had cost him that.

“If it’s nothing, then why are you looking as if you’re about to start crying?” Cersei asked her.

“Jon’s family hates me. And if he comes to Essos with me, he’ll lose them. He might never see them again.”

“You’re too tender hearted.”

“You’re too cold hearted.”

“That may be, but I’m not the one bleeding over people who would as soon see me dead.”

Daenerys nodded. “That’s true,” she said heavily. “I guess I just...this whole thing went so differently than I’d hoped.”

Cersei laughed. “Such is life, Stormborn.”


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his family talk about the North and a little about their relationship; Dany and Cersei talk about the future

36

Jon

“The North is free,” Sansa said in triumph to her family. They were gathered around the fireplace in Jon’s chambers. 

“Aye,” Jon responded. “Free, and doomed. You know that, don’t you?”

“We should have bent the knee to Cersei? She’s a monster! And what kind of person is your Dragon Queen, if that’s who she chooses to befriend?”

“The kind of person who appreciates an alliance to save humanity,” Jon snapped. “The kind of person who puts the safety of the realm above her own selfish desires. The kind of person who can put aside her own petty dislike for the good of the people. The kind of person who would have been a good ruler. The kind of person you aren’t.”

Sansa glared at him. “You would judge me? You gave away your crown. You betrayed us, you betrayed the North.”

“Did I? By bringing an ally to defend our home?”

“Ally? She wasn’t an ally! She wanted the North to bend the knee to her. And did you hear what Yara Greyjoy said? The Iron Islands are independent too. And apparently Daenerys is not only allowing it, but will defend their right to independence with her own armies. Yet she wanted us to bend the knee.”

“You realize that Yara Greyjoy offered her ships, and supported her claim to the Iron Throne. And the Ironborn were actually grateful to her for her help. They followed her orders to wait at the ports and transport people to islands. They didn’t treat her like garbage. All this tells me is that if the North had handled this differently, you probably could have negotiated for independence after the war. And would not have lost most of our people.”

“She left us to die, and you think she’d have been a good ruler.”

“She never had to come North at all, Sansa. You were terrible to her, to an ally who came to save the North. To save our people and our home. What kind of queen puts her own desires over the safety and well being of her people?”

“Cersei,” Sansa snapped.

“I guess she taught you well.”

Bran and Arya were silent through the exchange. Bran’s face showed no emotion, but Arya was looking from Jon to Sansa, and her expression was sad. 

“Father said that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she said. “The Long Night is over, but winter is still here. The Maesters said it will be the worst in living memory. That might change with the dead army gone, but it’s unlikely. Winter is still winter. And now, our pack is divided. After all these years, we finally found each other. And we’re divided.”

Jon sighed. “Arya, I’m sorry. But the North made its choice. What can I do? I love her. She’s carrying my child. She’s my pack, too. I can’t bring her North, you know that. Even if I could convince her, what then? Bring her into the wasteland our people made of our home? So they can spit when they see her, and call her a foreign whore? Spit at my children?” He shook his head. “I allowed them to disrespect her, and I stupidly expected her to just allow it, too. I was so caught up in the horror of what we were facing. I was wrong. We were wrong. And all the horrors that happened to our people could have been avoided.”

“I understand. I just want our pack to be healed.”

“So do I, Arya. But it wasn’t I who divided us. You said right off when we saw each other again, that Sansa didn’t like ‘my queen’. Remember? You said the two of you were defending our family. Told me not to forget we were family. It was the two of you, and the whole North, who made it into a choice. Daenerys came to save us all, and you made it very clear she wasn’t wanted.

“You are my family. But Dany is too. If you and the North had welcomed her, showed her the slightest bit of warmth, if we all hadn’t violated guest right, she’d have stayed. She’d have saved the North. Then, if we’d marched south for her, she could have taken the city with ease. She’s shown that. 

“The North wouldn’t have been destroyed. Daenerys would be the queen instead of Cersei. And she may have agreed to our independence once we supported her, as she did with the Iron Islands.

“Now most of the Northern people are dead, the North is a ruin, they’re facing starvation and Cersei is queen. That’s what Sansa accomplished. I want us healed, too, Arya, but how?”

Arya sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. She looked at Sansa. 

“I will never forgive her,” Sansa said coldly. “Too many have died. Sam’s wife lost her baby. I will have a scar on my face for the rest of my life. The North...” her voice broke. Jon could see she truly loved the North, and was as devastated as he was by its destruction. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa. But you were angry at her for coming and then angry at her for leaving. She couldn’t win with any of you.”

They sat in silence now, and a servant came in to stoke the fire. 

Jon stood, to walk through the Keep. He had nothing more he could say. It hurt him as it hurt Arya that their pack was divided. They may never heal now, and it was ludicrous to blame Daenerys for that.

The lords and ladies he saw through the Keep were readying for their trip back to their own kingdoms, and wondering if Cersei would truly help them. She’d mentioned that in a fortnight she would go over plans to feed her Five Kingdoms. 

Jon knew they were concerned. The wars were over, and peace would finally settle in all the kingdoms, but after so much fighting and destruction, how could they survive winter? Cersei would look out for herself first, there could be no question about it. 

Jon thought about what Daenerys had said. Cersei did not wish to be threatened, or to have riots. Maybe she would feed people for that, if for no other reason. Jon wanted to be optimistic, but there was only a dismal sense of foreboding. 

Daenerys 

“How would you feed the Five Kingdoms?” Cersei asked Daenerys. 

Daenerys looked up from the map of Essos she’d been studying. 

Cersei was drinking her wine, and she looked pale. Daenerys frowned.

“Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. What would you do? You wanted the throne. What was your plan?”

Daenerys sighed. “I hadn’t made plans that took into consideration the North choosing self destruction, a dead army sweeping through Westeros, or your armies sacking Highgarden.”

“And I suppose your body was possessed by a demon when you burned the food at the Gold Road?” Cersei demanded tartly. 

“I was angry,” Daenerys admitted, flushing. “Sometimes anger makes me do stupid things.”

Cersei smirked. “Likewise, Stormborn. So what now?”

“I mean no offense, Your Grace,” Daenerys said, emphasizing Cersei’s title, “but that’s really up to you. It’s not my problem anymore.”

“You agreed to stay until my daughter is born. As such, I’m going to ask for your opinion from time to time. You think you’re a better queen than me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. On numerous occasions. You said I was a tyrant, and you were going to break the wheel that crushes the people on the ground. How would you feed them?”

Cornered, Daenerys frowned, thinking. “I would try to figure out who should be Lord Paramount of the Reach, now that you’ve slaughtered the Tyrells. If there are any Hightowers left, that would be my choice. If not, maybe one of the Redwynes? There could possibly be one or two more harvests before Winter makes its way south in earnest. You mentioned glass gardens. Winterfell’s are ruined, and the North is independent, but they could be built elsewhere, couldn’t they? They wouldn’t have the benefit of hot springs, but surely your Qyburn could figure something out to keep them warm. You could use soil from the Reach.

“You paid the Iron Bank back, maybe they would extend another loan. Your debt was enormous, and what you borrowed for the Golden Company was not even a fraction of it. They’ll want that money back. They must know the only way to get it back is if Westeros doesn’t fall into ruin.”

Cersei nodded. “That could work. Good. I’m curious to hear your other plans.”

“Why? I’m not staying.”

“You’ve made a point of saying your rule would be better than mine. How?”

Daenerys studied her. “You’re very pale. You should rest.”

“I’ll rest soon enough,” Cersei snapped, and Daenerys stared at her.

“What’s wrong?”

Cersei drank from her goblet, draining it, then poured more wine into it. “Do you know what I told Sansa Stark?”

“A great many things, I imagine.”

“I told her that a woman’s life is nine parts mess to one part magic, and the parts that look like magic turn out to be the messiest of all.”

Daenerys laughed. “Well, that’s true.”

Cersei stood up, walking to the window with her wine. “Do you know how many hours I’ve spent here? Looking out the window. Planning. Thinking. I told my brother Tyrion once that ruling is lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out root by root before they strangle you in your sleep.”

Daenerys nodded, with a slight shudder. “Sometimes,” she said softly.

“I’ll tell you something else I told Sansa Stark, and it appears she took it to heart. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, keep them safe. I told her, love no one but your children. On that front a mother has no choice.”

Cersei turned back to Daenerys. “I loved my children. I loved my ridiculous brother, my mother...my father, even. But you...you love, and what’s worse, you trust people because you love them. If you’d stayed in the North, those wolves would have torn you to pieces. You went there so naively, thinking that your loving one of them and saving their home would make them accept you.

“But they’ve been through too much, Stormborn. They can’t afford to be honorable like their father. They’re like me, now. 

“Anyone who isn’t them is their enemy.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Daenerys asked. “You should be resting. You’re pale as a ghost.”

“I’m telling you this because you didn’t want to answer my question. To tell me your plans. If you aren’t going to share whatever wisdom you think you’ve gained in your young life, I may as well share mine.

“I’m telling you this because you said that the children of your enemies should not be harmed. 

“I’m telling you this because I’ve watched you risk your own life to protect this continent, where you were treated so badly, that you gave up on your lifelong dream.

“I’m telling you this because you’re Aegon the Conqueror with teats to your enemies, but Alysanne to your friends.”

“Who’s Alysanne?” Daenerys asked.

“Ugh. I keep forgetting you have no education at all. Read a fucking book, Stormborn.”

Daenerys flushed again. “I haven’t had much leisure time to read since I’ve been here.”

“I’m not interested.” Cersei said dismissively. She sighed deeply. “My brother Jaime left us. Me and our babe. He had no way to know of any of us would live or die. Did you see that great hulking beast he left us for?”

Daenerys actually thought Ser Brienne was quite a handsome woman in her own way, but had far too much self preservation to mention that to Cersei. 

“I saw her.”

“And if he could abandon us, I certainly cannot expect her to view me in any positive light. If I were dead, what would you tell my daughter about me?”

“What would I...what?” Daenerys was staring at her in horror now.

“If she asked you what I was like. Don’t lie, Stormborn. What would you say?”

“I would say...you were beautiful. One of the most formidable people I’ve ever known. That everyone you knew underestimated you, and you proved them all wrong.” Her throat hurt, and she swallowed hard. “Why are you - “

“Your parents were brother and sister,” Cersei said.

“They were,” Daenerys said.

“Mine were cousins. And my children...” she sighed. “Joffrey was mad. I loved him. But he was mad. A monster. Tommen and Myrcella were good. Are you good, Stormborn? Or are you mad?”

Daenerys sighed. “I’m sure you have an opinion on that.”

“I’m asking yours.”

“Maybe a little of both,” Daenerys admitted.

Cersei smiled. “Yes. That would have been my thoughts. A little of both. And that goes for everyone, doesn’t it?”

Daenerys nodded. “I suppose it does.”

“You’ll need guidance,” Cersei told her.

“Guidance?”

“If I were gone, my brother Tyrion may be a better advisor.”

“Why would he be better with you gone?”

“You said it yourself. I’m his family. He said once, he never bets against family”

“I wish I knew that before I named him my Hand,” Daenerys said bitterly.

“It worked out for me. You’d have the throne and I would have been executed”

“You think I’d have executed you? Without a trial?” Daenerys demanded.

“I’ve heard stories,” Cersei said. “I wonder why you didn’t?”

“I would have given you a trial,” Daenerys insisted. 

“Oh? What would have been the charge? Being queen?”

“Murdering people when you burned the Sept.”

“I told you, the Tyrells killed my son Joffrey.”

“I didn’t know that at the time.”

“Why didn’t you lock me away then?”

“Because I’m not taking the throne. I was very angry. I thought you and Jon could fight over the throne if that’s what you wanted to do.”

Cersei laughed. “Of course. And you were so enraged at the North you didn’t want to do them the favor of getting me out of their way.”

“That wasn’t the only - “

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t the only reason. You wanted my help with the war against the dead. You didn’t want to waste time on a trial. 

But you also knew you’d be leaving me and King Jon to war with each other. I find a certain comfort in knowing I’ve lived this much longer because you wanted to spite the North.” Ignoring Daenerys’ glare, Cersei continued. “And it’s all done now. Tyrion may advise you well.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to Essos.”

Cersei smirked and returned to her chair, across from Daenerys. “My first child was Robert’s. Black hair. A beautiful boy. He died.”

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said softly. 

“My second child was Joffrey. He was beautiful, too. But Myrcella, she wasn’t only beautiful. She was good. Truly, down in her bones, good. And Tommen. Tommen was good, too. I loved them all. I loved them so much. And I was afraid. I was always so afraid. A woman told me when I was a girl that I would have three children. And they would all die.”

“She was wrong,” Daenerys pointed out. “You’ve had four children, and a fifth on the way.”

“Yes. A fifth on the way. That Red Witch you brought here told me something, Stormborn. And Qyburn confirmed it.”

Daenerys leaned forward. She remembered that night, Cersei throwing things all over her room. “Is it the baby?”

“It could have been. I’m not young anymore. They told me only one of us would survive. Me or the child.” 

Daenerys’ eyes widened. “Did they tell you which of you would survive?”

“They told me if I wanted to survive, I would have to take immediate action. Cleanse the baby. That this would be my last child either way, and I had to choose. I chose my daughter.”

Daenerys was unable to speak for a moment. “You’re going to die having your daughter.”

“Yes. And she may blame herself. Stormborn, you can’t let her do that. She must understand that - “

“I? I can’t let her? I won’t even be here.”

“I want you to raise my daughter.”

Daenerys stilled, her eyes fixed on Cersei.

“Why?”

“I explained why. I’ve written letters to my brothers explaining my will. I wrote a letter to you as well. You’re strong, and you would not object to a young woman wanting to wield a sword or learn to rule. You and I were denied those things, Stormborn.

“We were like birds stripped of feathers, like lions and dragons robbed of our teeth, then left by the men who’d told us we need not learn, that they would protect us. But then they didn’t. 

“You said you would not speak ill of me to my child. You keep your promises. If you promise protection, you provide it. I need you to promise me you will protect my daughter.”

“I promise. I give you my word I will protect her. But...what of her father?”

“Jaime can see her, of course. I would like that. But he will no doubt marry his knight, and my child would never get the life she deserves. She would always hear that I was terrible and monstrous. I’ve never done you any harm. My daughter can grow up with your little one and inherit Casterly Rock. You’ll marry King Jon. He was raised a bastard. I don’t believe he would do to a child what was done to him.”

“He wouldn’t. But - “

“But nothing. I’ve never known you to break your word, which is more than I can say for anyone else save King Jon and that uncle of his. Give me your word you’ll be good to her.”

“I give you my word. I’ll be good to her. But - “

“Good. I need her to be in good hands.”

Daenerys was not going to allow herself to cry; she forced her tears to stand guard at her eyes, to sit at the threshold. She commanded them not to fall. 

“You’re crying,” Cersei snapped, and the tears fell. 

“I’m not,” she insisted, wiping them impatiently.

“You are. Seven hells, you are the most ridiculous person.”

“Are you in the habit of mocking your friends for caring about you?” Daenerys snapped.

Cersei smirked again. “I’m not in the habit of having friends.”

“I just - “

“I don’t care, Stormborn.” Cersei stood. “I think I will rest now. Think about what we’ve discussed. If you don’t believe you can follow through on this promise, I need to know, and I don’t have much time.”

She swept out of the council chambers, and Daenerys sat, numb with shock.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks to Sam, Dany and Cersei have a final conversation about the future and about baby Joanna.

Jon 

It was early, and Jon had stood at the wharf all morning, greeting the last of the Northern refugees, the women, children and elderly who could not fight, brought back from islands where they’d been given a safe place to wait out the war with the dead.

They weren’t angry at him anymore. They were broken and grief stricken. This was worse, in a way. 

“We should have listened to you,” one woman told him tearfully. “We drove away the allies you, our king, brought to save us. And now, we’re ruined.”

There was also rising among them an unmistakable anger at Sansa. 

Jon could and would do nothing about it. He was going to Essos with Dany.

He frowned. He was worried about her. The last time he’d seen her had been two days before and he could see she’d been crying. Since then, she’d been in Cersei’s chambers, and Jon hoped Dany was all right.

Sam approached him, and Jon readied himself. The man had been a brother to him once.

“Jon,” Sam greeted. His face was flushed, and he wore a slight smile. 

“Sam,” Jon responded tersely. 

“I just came here because my...my family came back today.”

“Your family?”

“My mother, my sister, my good sister. My brother Dickon married Lady Eleanor Mooton. She’s with child. They’re all alive.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Horn Hill was evacuated with the rest of the Reach. People came to help move them, got them to a ship, brought them to Dragonstone.”

“Daenerys evacuated all the Kingdoms south of the Neck,” Jon said.

“I know. I owe you an apology. You and her. I was angry, and I was wrong. If I hadn’t been so set against her, if I’d been more supportive of you and your decision...maybe I could have helped you. Stood by both of you. Maybe she would have stayed.

“Gilly wouldn’t have lost her baby. The North wouldn’t have - “

“It wasn’t you alone who drove her away. And it doesn’t matter now.”

“I suppose it doesn’t. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. To you and to her. She saved my mother, my sister, my good sister, and my little niece or nephew. My family. If I’d listened to you, if the North had listened to you, everything would have been different.”

Jon sighed. He patted Sam’s shoulder. It was true, he could not deny that. But he could see Sam regretted his part in everything, and more and more, Jon saw the North regretted it. As the last refugees returned and reunited with their families, and began to realize how much they’d lost, they’d come to him to apologize. 

If only we’d listened to you...

Jon shuddered. There was naught to be done about it now. 

Daenerys 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Cersei’s voice was low, all her strength aimed at holding the tiny girl in her arms.

“She is,” Daenerys agreed. She could see that Cersei’s face had gone almost grey with pallor. The room had to be cleaned, the bed changed every hour, lest the metallic scent of blood overwhelmed the senses.

“”There are things you need to know, Stormborn.”

“All right.”

“Your mother was stronger than your father.”

Daenerys blinked in surprise. “Was she?”

“She was powerless. Like so many women. But she was strong. She was very very beautiful. I’d have despised her if she’d been younger than me.”

“What did she look like?”

“You. She looked a lot like you. And I can assure you, I quite despised you when we first met.”

Daenerys laughed. “Likewise.”

“You care about the people,” Cersei said. “But you can’t always protect them. If you throw all your energy into justice, people will say you have no mercy. If you show too much mercy, people will think you’re weak.”

“So what’s the perfect solution, then?” Dany asked.

“There isn’t one. You can temper your justice with mercy, and still you’ll make people angry. You were too hard on them. You were too soft on them. 

“You can try your best, and still not be appreciated. You can be smart and kind and generous and strong and just and honorable and ruthless and gentle and put your very all into everything you do, but still fail. 

“You need to know this, Stormborn. I don’t think you’re familiar enough with what it means to fail. You simply haven’t failed enough. You can be good, and fail. You can be strong, and be beaten by someone smarter; you can be smart, and be beaten by someone stronger. You can look at the big picture and fail because you missed some small detail. You can look at all the details and fail because you missed some big picture element in the way the details came together. 

“You will not always win. You will not always succeed. I imagine that’s hard for you to imagine. But sometimes, you will fail.”

“What an inspiring speech,” Daenerys said dryly.

“I’m not trying to inspire you. I’m trying to warn you. The stakes you’ve created are too high. If you allow failure to break you, the world will break with you.”

“I’ve had failures,” Daenerys said. 

Cersei laughed. “Have you? Tell me about them. Tell me about your failures.”

“I tried to save my husband, and I lost him and my baby.”

“And you used that loss to hatch your dragons. Remember that too. Remember that no failure is final.”

Daenerys sighed, and as Cersei shifted, she moved closer to help position her comfortably. Cersei handed her the babe. 

“Hold her,” she urged. “I want to see how you..no, that’s wrong. Stormborn, have you never held a babe before? Like this...”

Daenerys finally held the child in a manner that pleased Cersei. “This is good?”

“Yes. That’s good. I’ve never been a patient woman.”

“Nor have I,” Daenerys acknowledged.

“Well, I haven’t the time now to learn it. But you must. If you’re going to rule - “

“I’m not,” Daenerys said quickly.

“And even dying, I can’t escape these constant interruptions. Stormborn, you need to hold your tongue for a time. Can you manage that? I want some wine.”

Daenerys held the babe balanced on her hip as she moved across the room to pour the wine, then handed the glass to Cersei.

“I wanted to be queen,” Cersei continued. “I’d have liked to be a good queen, but more, I wanted to be a strong queen. I wanted to be feared.”

“You were, and are,” Daenerys assured her.

“But you, you’re like Sansa Stark.”

Daenerys quailed at that. “I am not!” She said, her cheeks flushing.

Cersei laughed lightly. “Not in every way. Clearly. But in this: you want to be loved. She wanted the same. She wanted to make the people love her.” She sighed. “But sometimes people are stupid, Stormborn. You can do everything for them and they’ll hate you just the same.”

“I don’t want to rule with fear.”

“I understand that. And I know you think you can rule with love, but love is not enough.

“You said that Tyrion told you fear makes my power brittle. Love makes power brittle too. If they love you but don’t fear you, they’ll betray you if they fear the enemy.”

“If they fear you too much, they may betray you if they love your enemy,” Daenerys said.

“Yes, that may be true. But love is a fickle thing. Fear is absolute.”

“So you’re recommending a reign of terror,” Daenerys said.

“No, Stormborn, I’m explaining why my reign was a reign of terror. Why I made the choices I did. Your armies and dragons would allow you to have an unprecedented reign of terror.”

“I don’t want a reign of terror - “

“And the fact that every single living person in Westeros is alive, because of you and Jon Snow, will give you a reign of love, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m not staying here at all.”

“And you may by turns use love to inspire the people, and fear to command their obedience. But ultimately, it will not be either that makes you a good queen.”

Daenerys smiled at her. “You’re going to tell me how to be a good queen?”

“I’m going to tell you what I think, and you can do with it as you wish.” Cersei said, and sipped her wine. “Your father was feared. And so was mine. There were few who loved my father, and no one who loved yours. But a difference between them is this: My father was respected. This took me some time to understand. You may have the love of the people. You may have the fear of the people. But the most important thing to have from them is their respect.”

Daenerys frowned. “How do I earn their respect?”

Cersei laughed. “Fuck if I know. No one has ever respected me in my entire life.”

“I respect you,” Daenerys said softly. 

“Do you? Why?”

Daenerys smiled. “You just want me to flatter you now?”

“And why not?” Cersei demanded, and Daenerys laughed again.

“All right. I respect that you trounced us in strategic planning. Tyrion’s mind was incomparable, the best I’ve ever known. And yet you were ahead of us, every step of the way.

“You have destroyed or won over every enemy you’ve ever had. You never let anyone’s judgment of you dissuade you from your aims. I may not agree with all your aims. But your determination is fearsome. 

“You had to do a walk of atonement and you didn’t let it break you. You always put your children first.”

“I lost them anyway,” Cersei said, and her eyes fixed on her babe. “Let me hold her.”

Daenerys handed the babe to her, arranging the pillows around her. 

“I respect you too, Stormborn. I’m not going to swell that silver head of yours explaining why, but I did write you a letter. You’ll read it. After. This little girl...her name is Joanna. After my mother. The things I took of my mother’s, you’ll give her.”

“I will.”

“And if she wants to learn how to fight, how to rule...it if she wants to learn embroidery or dancing...”

“Whatever she wants to learn, I’ll make sure someone teaches her.

“And you’ll never sell her into a marriage for some power play.”

“Never,” Daenerys promised.

“You and I and Sansa Stark have that in common. We were sold into marriages we never wanted. I don’t want that for my daughter.”

“It will never happen. She will decide who, if anyone, she wishes to marry. And she won’t have to marry if she doesn’t want to.”

“And you’ll make sure she knows my death was not her fault.”

“I will. Jon and I both lost our mothers coming into the world. We would never allow a child to believe herself responsible.”

“And Jon grew up a bastard,” Cersei noted. “Your own parents were siblings. You won’t make her feel unworthy for these things.”

“We won’t.”

Joanna woke, her little hands reaching for her mother’s face. 

Daenerys watched Cersei play with her daughter, an unbearable tenderness on her face. 

Cersei fed her, and Daenerys helped change her. 

Finally, Cersei handed the babe back to Daenerys. 

“One more thing, Stormborn. I need to make sure you can sing.”

“Sing?”

“Children like to be sang to. Go on. Let’s hear your lullaby voice.”

“I don’t know any lullabies.”

“You know songs, don’t you?” 

“I do.”

“Well, sing one.”

Daenerys hesitated, but began to sing a song she’d learned as a child, a sailor’s song about the stars and the sea and the call of home. 

The babe and her mother fell asleep as she sang. She finished, and laid Joanna in her cradle. 

She walked back to Cersei, to arrange the blankets, to check for fever, and she realized that the queen was cold. Unmoving. She was gone. 

Daenerys felt suddenly empty, and she sat down beside the bed, buried her head in her hands and wept quietly.


	38. Thirty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Cersei’s passing. :-(

Daenerys 

The Red Keep was empty to her now, though in fact it was more crowded than ever. 

Jon saw her as she’d left Cersei’s room, and rushed to her, and wrapped his arms around her. 

She held the babe between them, and he looked tenderly at her sleeping face.

“Cersei asked me to raise her,” she told him, her voice hoarse. “Her name is Joanna.”

“Then we will raise her together,” Jon said. 

Daenerys had expected resistance from Jaime Lannister, but met none.

The man was devastated. She could see he’d been crying, and dark circles ringed his eyes. 

He regarded Jon and Dany, his shoulders slumped as if something had broken in him. 

“I loved her. I know she was angry I went to Winterfell. I know you were angry I went to Winterfell. But I swear, I only wanted to keep my word. I thought I was helping to protect people from the dead. 

“You know...I promised your mother I would protect her children. I swore it to her,” Jaime told Daenerys. He turned to Jon. “And your father. I promised him the same. That I would protect his children. I failed spectacularly, didn’t I? It’s an odd justice then...for the two of you, the children I failed to protect...protecting my child. I hope you’ll do better than I did. And I hope...you’ll let me see her sometimes.”

“Cersei wanted you to see her, to know her,” Daenerys said.

Jaime nodded, gratefully. “I thank you.”

Ser Brienne stepped closer to comfort him, and Tyrion, who stood behind his brother, looked heartbroken.

“We haven’t quite figured out where in Essos we will be,” Daenerys said. “But we will let you know once we do. But I warn you, if you ever try to take her or harm her - “

“Essos? You’re still going to Essos?” Tyrion asked. 

“Well...yes. Of course.”

“Why?” Jaime asked. 

Daenerys stared at them. “You both can imagine why,” she said. “We’ll stay long enough to oversee the Great Council - “

“Great Council?” Tyrion echoed.

Daenerys was impatient now. “To choose a new leader, now that Cersei...” her throat closed. She swallowed hard and blinked back threatening tears. “Now that Cersei’s gone.”

Jaime and Tyrion exchanged worried glances. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I think you’re taking this a little too far,” Tyrion said. “I know you’re angry at the North - “

“I’m not even angry at them anymore. I don’t like them. I think they’re ungrateful, small minded entitled children. But I don’t hate them, and they’ve certainly been punished. Their independence will bring them nothing but misery and I can almost pity them.”

“But what of the rest of the realm? They know what you did. Many of them saw first hand. Most of them are aware of the dead army. Neither of you will meet anything other than respect or gratitude now,” Tyrion told her.

“I don’t think the realm has ever been as eager as they are now, for a Targaryen restoration,” Jaime supplied. “But if you’re both certain you want to leave, you should at least choose an heir.”

“An heir? I never took the throne. And Cersei specifically left Casterly Rock to Joanna. Not the throne. There is no heir, and it’s not my place to choose one. The people should - “

“Not your place?” Jaime interrupted. “Did you...not read Cersei’s will?”

“She didn’t give me her will, she wrote me a letter,” Daenerys said. 

“She named you her heir. To the throne,” Tyrion told her. 

Daenerys stared at him for a minute in disbelief. “She didn’t.”

“She did. You can read the will yourself.”

Daenerys started to laugh then, finding a seat, holding Joanna close to her. 

Of course. Of course she did. And all she could do now was laugh, holding the baby close to her. “Your Mama always has the last word, doesn’t she?” She told the babe, who smiled in her sleep. 

Arya Stark approached Daenerys a few days later. 

“You and Jon are getting married,” she said without preamble.

Daenerys glanced up at her. She had been rocking Joanna to sleep. 

“Yes. In another day or two.”

“And you’re carrying his child. You are his family, and your children will be my family. I wanted to apologize to you.”

Daenerys looked at her in surprise. “Apologize?”

“I didn’t try to get to know you at all. To make you feel welcome. I knew Jon loved you. And instead of making you feel like one of us, I shut you out. Made you and Jon feel isolated. I’m sorry for that.” She sat down. “I was excited to meet you. It was so amazing to see real dragons. But Sansa didn’t like you and I was protective of her. We were angry that Jon bent the knee to you.”

“Well, the North has its independence now,” Daenerys said lightly. 

“For all the good it’ll do,” Arya said, sighing. “I’m going to try to make it up to you. To both of you. You are going to join our pack. I won’t freeze either of you out again.”

Daenerys nodded. She could accept the girl’s apology, of course she could. She was Jon’s favorite. Daenerys had hoped they would be friends, on the trip all those moons ago. 

“Thank you, Arya.”

The wedding took place in the Red Keep’s Godswood, for Jon’s old gods, performed by a Septon, to please the Southerners who worshipped the Seven. 

Jon looked at her with such love as he cloaked her. 

The night of her childbirth was far less pleasant but immensely rewarding. 

Daenerys remembered knowing Rhaego was a boy; and wondered why she’d never been quite certain this time. Had it been fear of losing the child that kept her from that knowing? 

But when the time came, it was two babes, not one. A boy with her silver hair and Jon’s obsidian eyes; a girl with Jon’s lush dark curls and her violet eyes. 

Jon had told Daenerys that he’d grown up idolizing Daeron Targaryen, and Daenerys, after Cersei’s chiding, had decided to find out who Alysanne was. 

And so the children were named Daeron and Alysanne. 

Daenerys sat with her husband and her three children, watching her dragons fly outside the windows and knew she finally had a home, and these little ones would have the loving childhood that she and Jon had been denied.


	39. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: Ten Years later, everyone is happy except Sansa because f—k Sansa.

Princess Joanna’s tenth name day was approaching and the festivities were being planned. 

Daenerys watched her with her siblings, smiling to herself. Six children in all, running around and playing. Drogon and Rhaegal had produced offspring as well, and the little dragons flew overhead. 

Joanna had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to bond with one as her siblings might. Truly, it had taken much longer than with the rest of the children, but it seemed a little golden dragon had started to warm to her. And the little princess was determined. Daenerys doubted there was anything she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it.

Daenerys smiled fondly at her children. After Joanna, Daeron and Alysanne, had come Visenya, who was the very image of Arya; then Aemon, who was his father all over again. And the youngest, aside from the babe in Daenerys’ belly, little Rhaella, who was Daenerys herself. 

Ghost too had found a wolf to mate with, and the wolf pups dashed around the children, eager to play.

People were coming in for the feast, from all Seven Kingdoms. The North had begun to crumble after only a few moons, many people heading south for work.

They had come together to remove Sansa from power. They were starving and angry, and declared fealty to Jon and Daenerys.

Lady Lyanna Mormont was named Wardeness of the North. 

Bran Stark had married Meera Reed, and stayed on at the Red Keep, working closely with the Master of Whispers, a Dornish beauty named Loreza Sand. 

Daenerys hadn’t harmed Tyrion, but after too many mistakes and too much hypocrisy from him, she could not have him on her council. She’d given him some land, where he’d started a vineyard, and he seemed happy, though he would visit often, and Daenerys knew he missed his position as Hand. 

Missandei was her Hand, now. She’d wanted to go to Naath once the wars were over, but she’d returned with Grey Worm once the Naathi people were safe. And they were indeed safe. It had taken three more wars. Daenerys and her forces had swept over them and destroyed the slavers at last, and the free cities were truly free.

They sent tributes, and Daenerys was still called Queen when she visited them. 

The tributes had carried Westeros through winter and into the most profitable spring and summer Westeros had seen in a few hundred years. 

Daenerys stood now with her husband and King, watching their children play, baby wolves at their feet and dragons flying over their heads. 

Joanna had wanted a lion, and Jon and Daenerys were concerned. A dragon could bond with a person, and a wolf could be domesticated, but lions...they couldn’t be sure about lions. Yet, they’d sent word for people who knew much about the care and training of animals, and lions in particular. It seemed grossly unfair to tell the girl a lion would be too dangerous when they had dragons in their skies and giant wolves at their tables.

It may not work. But they would see.

Johanna and Visenya were playing with their wooden swords, and Jon grinned as he watched them. Jon, Arya and Jaime had trained both girls, and Daeron as well. 

Daenerys had kept to her word that whatever the children wanted to learn would be taught to them, and Jon was eager to follow through in that vow as well. 

They were happy, Daenerys thought. And for all that her people were happy, her Westerosi people, her Essosi people, her Dothraki who had taken to breeding horses and training warriors, her Unsullied who made up much of her Queensguard and trained new knights, Ser Jorah, who was happy as the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, what satisfied her the most was that her children were happy. That she and Jon had provided them with the love and support they deserved. 

That Daenerys had kept her promise to Cersei, and Jon had kept her promise as well, that little Joanna never felt left out or isolated. That she and all the children knew they were loved and cherished. That they had a home and a family and protection, and that they would be valued, whatever they decided their future would hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading my fic, and all your comments and kudos! I might one day come back and make edits (my gf really wanted Sansa to get punched in the face, for example). 
> 
> As always, please let me know if you think anything was missing, anything I could have/should have added that would make it better! 
> 
> Thank you again!


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